


Stage Fright

by ratherbehere



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Coming Out, Crossdressing, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2016, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge, Halloween Costumes, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle, Musicals, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Sex, Rent References, Rocky Horror Picture Show References, Singer Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8278648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherbehere/pseuds/ratherbehere
Summary: Sir Francis High is putting on a production of Rent and Castiel wants a part. Or not. Whatever. He’ll take what he can get cause there’s no way a newbie to the drama club would really get much of anything, right? And because he has crippling stage fright, that’s okay with him.
When, thanks to his vocal training, he’s cast as Mark, one of the leads and the play’s narrator, he has a panic attack.
Enter Dean Winchester, Castiel’s long-time crush. Dean talks Cas out of his panic attack and into taking the role. Castiel agrees in no small part because he knows Dean will be there- building the sets and working stage crew. But Dean only joined because he’d have to take his brother Sam to practice anyway, or at least that’s what he says.
When Dean offers to help Castiel with his fear, a new friendship blooms. As they get closer, Castiel begins to realize that he’s not the only one with a fear of putting himself out there. Dean’s as much in the closet as his poster from Rocky Horror, and coming out of it is not going to be easy.
**Knowledge of Rent is not required, but such familiarity (and familiarity with musicals in general) would probably enhance the experience of the fic.**





	

**Author's Note:**

> Head over to [lennyways](https://lennyways.tumblr.com/) for the [art masterpost](https://lennyways.tumblr.com/post/151791849724/dcbb-2016-art-masterpost-stage-fright-i-worked)! She's been an amazing artist and new friend to work with and deserves a like or a reblog. 
> 
> If you're on tumblr, you can find the fic masterpost [here](http://caswouldratherbehere.tumblr.com/post/151793527245/tumblr_of1hxc9No61qeeb0i).
> 
> Other notes:
> 
> The ages of Dean and Cas are left ambiguous. As they are still in high school, I have labeled this underage just in case.
> 
> Contains minor Charlie/Jo, and a Kevin that channels Osric Chau's complete lack of concern regarding gendered clothing.

 

**Prologue**

Castiel stared at the signup sheet and the rest of the world disappeared.

Well. That’s not strictly true.

He could hear shuffling feet behind him, someone coughing. A light with bad wiring flickered about 10 feet away. The smell of overly fried chicken wafted at him from the cafeteria.

But all of these things registered on the dim edges of his consciousness.

The musical this year… He couldn’t believe what the letters displayed.

_Rent_.

Only his favorite musical of all time. He’d been practicing the vocals since he was five years old, locked in the basement, praying his older sister Hester wouldn’t hear him and come tell him to stop. He loved his family, but they never understood him.

_What a way to be a walking stereotype of a teenager._

Castiel bit his lip. He’d give anything to be in this production. Literally, anything. But he’d never sung onstage before. He’d never sung in front of anyone beyond a coach and maybe Anna, his cool sister. Most importantly though, he’d never acted. At all. The thought was terrifying.

He was, to put it bluntly, the least qualified person in the history of Sir Francis High, to ever even consider putting his name on the audition list.

He was probably also the most awkward.

It would be madness to put his name down.

To his left, at the other side of the auditorium doors, a boy laughed. It pierced the fog of consciousness Castiel had erected around himself. There was no particular reason this laugh should cut through the fog, other than, perhaps, the fact that the owner of the voice was none other than Dean Winchester.

“Theater again? Really, Sammy?” Dean said with another chuckle, ruffling his younger brother’s hair. Castiel had seen him do that a few times. It never went over well.

“Knock it off, Dean,” Sam responded, pushing his hand away. “It’s Sam, and I happen to like lighting and sound. And you know, something tells me you’d love building sets and working stage crew if you gave it half a shot, instead of throwing up some macho wall that you’re far too _manly_ for theater.” Sam crossed his arms. “Everyone knows you’re overcompensating by the way.”

Through Castiel’s side-glance, for he dare not move to stare directly (that would be rude), he could just see Dean fish-lip his way into a response.

“You’re saying I’m gay for _not_ wanting to do this stage crap?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Fine,” Dean said with a puff. He reached past Sam, grabbed the pen from the technical theater signup sheet, and signed his name, right over Sam’s head. Sam was seriously due for a growth spurt any day now. “I’m in.”

Sam stared in shock. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Yeah, well. I’d be taking you to practice anyway.”

They walked away, the conversation slipping from Castiel’s ears.

He shook his head, trying to knock sense into it, but sense was not his friend today.

Cause if Dean Winchester was doing stage crew, Castiel was damn well at least trying out for the cast. Maybe he wouldn’t be too horrible and they’d give him a part with one line or something. And he could hyperventilate 18 times a day for the next two months.

That was normal, right?

 

**Chapter 1**

Castiel’s dad was passed out at his keyboard when Castiel came home. That was more than normal, really. Chuck had exactly two states: writing frantically, and passed out. It worked now that Cas and his siblings were older. It did not work so well when they were younger and needed to be fed occasionally.

“Anna,” Castiel said, stopping by her bedroom door. Anna was older than Castiel by three years and still had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. Unlike their older siblings, Uriel and Hester, who were away at college being stupidly successful.

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, nodding along to some music pumping through her earphones. Castiel thought she didn’t hear him, but then she looked up, smiled, and pulled her headphones off.

“Hey, Cas,” she said. “How was school?”

“I did something incredibly stupid today.” He liked getting straight to the point. Anna quirked an eyebrow. “I signed up to try out for the musical.”

Anna’s chin hit the floor. Or, it would have, but as she was sitting on a bed, it hit the mattress instead.

“You hate being in front of people.”

“But I love singing. And _Rent_.”

“You’ve loved every musical they’ve ever done and nothing compelled you to try out before,” Anna pointed out. Her eyes narrowed in a way that was entirely too familiar. “Who is he?”

“Anna.”

“Ooooh, yes, it’s definitely a boy. Come on, who?”

Castiel sighed. Anna was relentless. She would find out eventually anyway. “Dean Winchester.”

When Anna’s first instinct was to bite her lip, he knew he was so, so screwed.

“What?” Castiel asked, crossing his arms defensively.

“It was a couple of years ago,” Anna stated. “It doesn’t matter.”

Castiel uncrossed his arms, stepping into the room. Now he was curious, damn her. “What is it, Anna?”

“When you were freshmen and I was a senior, he hit on me.”

That was certainly not what Castiel had been expecting. “Did you say yes?”

“Cas!”

“It’s a valid question.”

Anna sighed. Like her, he also didn’t stop asking when the question mattered. “I thought about it,” Anna admitted, picking at her leggings. “Maybe in a different life, I would have said yes. Let’s just say I see the appeal, and that was three years ago. But Cas-“

“I swear to God, if you’re going to remind me he’s straight—“  

Anna blinked several times her hand frozen on her leggings. “I wasn’t going to say that at all. Who the hell knows what he is. He could be straight. He could also be bisexual. He might not know yet. Not everyone is as lucky as you.” She blew out a breath of frustrated air. “But that’s just it, Cas. He’s a riddle, he doesn’t let anyone know who he is, and that spells trouble.”

“Maybe he’ll let me know who he is,” Castiel said, cringing at himself. He sounded ridiculous. Anna’s look told him he was right.

“Just be careful.”

Castiel thought of all the classes he’d spent every waking moment staring at Dean’s handsome profile, waiting, hoping Dean at least knew his name, and decided ‘careful’ was probably out of his control.

~

Castiel had had a week to work on his audition for _Rent_ and he’d spent every moment he could sequestered away either pouring over the script the drama instructor had provided, or working on his vocal chords and diction.

He’d taken singing lessons since he was eight, so fortunately, that part was easy. The lessons had started as a way to cure him of his crippling stage fright, and when that utterly failed, Castiel had begged to continue them anyway. Even if he was the only one to hear himself besides his coach, he enjoyed singing and wanted to make the most of his talent.

Well. For the first time in 9 years, he was going to put those lessons to the test in front of a real audience.

He stood in the wings of the stage, a couple classmates and dusty curtains serving for company, waiting for his turn to come. He could hear other auditions going on. Almost everyone was good. Really good.

And why wouldn’t they be? He was a junior in high school, everyone that had any inclination to act had already tried out before. Leads were usually handed out to seniors who had been around for the previous three years. No one ever jumped in this late. If they tried, they certainly never got a main part.

Which would be just fine, really, if that’s what happened to him.

The current audition wrapped up with a whoop from the audience. “Yeah, go Jo! You rocked that!”

Castiel’s head whipped up. He knew that voice. He may have made a few soliloquies to that voice in his time. Why was Dean Winchester in the audience for this?

So on top of auditioning for the directors, and the other students auditioning, apparently family and friends were sitting in. Including Dean Winchester.

Dear god, how many people were out there?

He barely had a moment to ponder that when a feminine voice called his name.

“Castiel Milton, you’re up!”

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit._

_Um, did I say shit?_

He internally cursed the entire 20 feet from the wing to the center of the stage.

A black woman Castiel recognized as Mrs. Moseley lifted an eyebrow at him as he stopped at the mic.

“Name?” she asked. It struck Castiel as unfriendly, but that was probably more his own perception affected by his utter terror than anything else.

“Castiel Milton.”

_For the love of God, Cas, do not look at Dean Winchester, you will pass out._

She looked at a clipboard in her hands and scanned down the list. She checked him off with a sharp movement of her pen.

“Did you pick up the selected scene from my office?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Castiel said.

The look she gave him could have melted him on the spot, but she motioned to her assistant. “From the top then, Pamela.”

Pamela (or Ms. Barnes, as she allowed absolutely none of her students to call her) and Mrs. Moseley couldn’t have been more different. Mrs. Moseley looked like she belonged in a quaint little tea parlor, whereas Pamela seemed more suited to a biker bar. But they shared something in common—they were tough as nails and wouldn’t take shit from anyone.

“From the top, Castiel, whenever you’re ready,” she said.

Okay, so the acting part wasn’t going to be his strong suit, and he knew that going in. But he did passably well, he thought. He didn’t pass out and no one booed or frowned or told him to get lost, so he would count it as a win.

Next, Mrs. Moseley asked for his vocal audition.  He’d chosen One Song Glory. His reasons were twofold. One, it gave him a chance to highlight his vocal range and depth, from low notes to high notes, soft to loud. Two, it was just a really great song.

And though he was still quite nervous, when the pianist started his beats, it was like he was someone else.

He _was_ Roger, using music to convey his passions, his dreams and desires.  The desperate need to mark his time on Earth with an accomplishment before the HIV in his veins takes his life, one glorious song to leave something of himself behind. Something that surpasses the human weakness of mortality.

By the time he reached, “time flies, time dies” and the huge note of “glory” immediately following, he’d forgotten there was an audience. He focused on pouring his heart into his vocal chords and diaphragm and gave it all of himself.

Somehow the microphone ended up in his hand and he moved across the stage. By the time he got to the last, trailing, “time dies…” he was on his knees.

For a moment, time had died. Or at least, it wasn’t moving.

Then it lurched forward with a clap like thunder.

Only it wasn’t thunder.

It was the entire room erupting into applause.

Castiel cracked open his eyes and looked out into the audience. The room had maybe two dozen people in it, but every single person was on their feet.

Including Dean Winchester. Who was looking at him like he’d just seen Castiel for the first time. No, not just that. That he was _worthy_ of being seen.

He blushed and scrambled quickly to his feet, rushing to put the microphone back in the stand.

“Thank you,” he said into it before fleeing the stage.

~

He should not have driven home. Dear god, what was he thinking? He could barely hear his thoughts over the pounding of his heart and he thought operating heavy machinery at unnatural speeds was a good idea?

Anna, of course, had wanted to know how it went. He’d mumbled a, “Good,” and then locked himself in his bedroom, flopping face first on his bed and fully planning on never moving again.

A bing from his cellphone made his brow furrow. Though he had a few friends’ numbers saved, he had a cellphone primarily for emergencies. Alfie, from the chess club, was as much of a loner as he was, Hannah was busy with yearbook duties, and Gabriel was just… weird.

‘Dude,’ Gabriel’s text said. ‘you can sing?’

Ah, autocorrect. What a thing of beauty. Gabriel’s texts used to require a translator to understand.

‘Yeah. So? Not a big deal,’ Castiel texted back, aiming for casual, even though his heart was pounding. What had Gabriel heard? _How_ had Gabriel heard?

‘You’re going to be a star,’ Gabriel answered. ‘I’ll be your manager.’

Castiel snorted. Right. Gabriel as his manager. That would be the day.

‘I’m not that good. My acting was terrible. Probably didn’t make it. Find yourself another star.’

’20 bucks says you get one of the leads.’

Castiel frowned. The lead. To a newbie at the drama department? He wasn’t even in choir. Not that such a thing was impossible, but it was very, very unlikely. He would have had to blow the directors out of their freaking chairs. He only wanted a minor role, anyway, and he probably wouldn’t get that much. Maybe when he didn’t make the casting cut, he could still sign up for crew and work with Dean.

Hey. That wasn’t a bad idea.

But lead? No. Not possible.

‘Deal.’

~

Castiel must have lost his god damn mind because the first thing he thought when he saw the casting sheet on Monday morning was that he didn’t even have $20 to give to Gabriel.

Then the panic set in.

He read the words again. “Castiel Milton” in one column, and “Mark Cohen” in the corresponding slot in the second column.

Suddenly the people around him were a blur of color and noise, a cacophony of chaos that circulated around him. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to die. If not now, then certainly on stage.

Mark? The ‘narrator’ who films the life of his friends, who has singing moments in almost every song? One of his favorite characters of all time, he was going to play him? In front of hundreds of people?

Castiel turned, dizzy, uncertain, ready to head to a bathroom to throw up. Or pass out. Or die.

But a hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

“Hey man, you okay?”

Because life can be very, very cruel, the voice was immediately recognizable as Dean Winchester’s.

Castiel turned slowly, momentarily stunned as his eyes settled on Dean’s perfectly, beautiful green ones, not three feet from his own.

Awesome. So they’ve never even spoken before and their first conversation is going to involve Cas puking on his shoes.

“Whoa,” Dean said, putting a second hand on his other shoulder. Evidently Castiel’s face had warned him of the imminent puking. Or death. He still hadn’t ruled that out yet. “Not okay then. C’mon.”

Dean pushed him gently and guided him about ten feet away to a side hallway, one that was blissfully empty. Once he was away from the crowd, Castiel doubled over and took a huge, rattling breath, sucking air back into his oxygen deprived lungs.

“Just breathe,” Dean said, putting a hand on his back. The warmth of his palm bled through the fabric of his t-shirt like a salve. Slowly, the world began to right itself. It wasn’t quite so dark, and yet stupidly bright at the same time. The voices from the nearby lobby area were no longer loud and screechy. When the walls were once again solid and not wobbling like Jell-O, he thought maybe he could stand properly again.

“So what was that about?” Dean ask, casually letting his hand slip away as Castiel stood up.

“The casting sheet,” Castiel said, gesturing vaguely back in the direction they’d come from.

Dean frowned. “You didn’t get the lead? That’s insane, you were the best—“

He broke off as Castiel doubled over yet again, moving sharply to catch him. A gesture Castiel appreciated, but one that was thoroughly unnecessary. He had shifted from panic attack to utterly insane. Instead of puking, mad laughter echoed up from his lungs.

“I got the lead,” Castiel explained, straightening once more. Dean’s hand pulled away hesitantly this time, like he wasn’t quite sure he could trust Cas to stand on his own accord. Like he was dealing with a crazy person.

Which he was. Clearly.

“You’re going to have to catch me up here,” Dean said.

Castiel blew out a puff of air. It was going to be obvious anyway, right? “I have horrible, penetrating stage fright.”

“Ah,” Dean said, though he still looked more than a little confused.

“I thought I’d get a small part in the background. I can’t have the lead. I won’t survive. I have to… I have to go find Ms. Moseley and tell her that I decline the part,” Castiel said, turning to go, intent to do that immediately, to get it over with, so that maybe next time he runs into the most beautiful man in the universe, he can seem just a bit less like a batshit crazy.

“Whoa,” Dean said, and suddenly his hands were on Castiel’s shoulders again. Jesus, if he didn’t stop that, Castiel’s heart was going to pound through his ribcage. “I can’t let you do that. You had the most amazing audition I’ve ever seen. Cas,” Dean said. Paused. “It is Cas, right? Castiel Milton?” His thumb caressed Castiel’s shoulder in some sort of subconscious gesture of consideration. It made his pulse flutter. Dean was handsy and he certainly wasn’t going to complain. “You would be doing the entire school—hell, thespians everywhere—a disservice by turning down this role. I don’t think you understand how incredible your audition was.”

Castiel’s face was fully flushed. He was humbled, embarrassed, and increasingly those feelings were mixing with arousal, just to confuse his poor little teenager brain.

“But—“

“You at least have to calm down before you make that decision, Cas. Promise me that.”

Dean had a point. Maybe he shouldn’t be making huge decisions while hyperventilating. All he could manage was a nod though.

“Good.”

Dean’s hands finally pulled off his shoulders and Cas wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Probably both.

“Good,” Dean repeated, nodding to himself. “Okay, well. Um. I should… Sam…”

Castiel made a dismissive gesture. “Yeah.” As Dean started to walk away, Castiel found a few more words in his vocabulary. “Dean?” Dean paused and turned to look back. “Thank you.”

If Castiel thought Dean’s eyes were amazing, they were nothing compared to his smile. “No problem, Cas. Take the part. You were made for it.”

Castiel watched him leave, standing in disbelief that Dean Winchester had just pulled him back from a panic attack. And had touched him. A lot.

He had to get home, tell Anna. She’d be as amazed as he was.

The drive home gave him enough peace and quiet for his mind to start overthinking everything and by the time he walked in the door, he was convinced Dean was in love with him, that Dean would never speak to him again, that he would make the greatest Mark Cohen the world had ever seen, and that he was quitting the play tomorrow.

“Anna!” Castiel called, shutting the door behind him just a tad too loudly. “Anna, you’ll never believe—“

“You got the lead, didn’t you?” she said, turning the corner with a huge smile on her face. She took his stunned look as a confirmation. “Congrats. What are you going to do about the stage fright?”

“I don’t even know if I’m accepting the part. But Anna, you’ll never belie—“

“What do you mean you might not accept the part? Cas, you tried out, you got the part because you were the best at it.”

Castiel sighed. “I know, but it’s not what I was expecting. Jesus, I put desired role as “extra”. But no, listen, you’ll never—“

“Take the part, Cas! You should!”

“Dean Winchester talked me out of a panic attack,” Castiel blurted out a little too loudly and a little too fast. Anna’s chin dropped. “He caught me freaking out, pulled me into the hallway on the backside of the gym, and put his hand on my shoulders. A lot. And made everything better.”

Anna fish lipped for something to say. Castiel got the distinct impression she still didn’t fully approve of Dean, but even Castiel could hear how dopey he sounded. She didn’t want to hurt him by being unnecessarily negative.

“What did he say about the part?”

“He told me I was amazing and would be doing a disservice to everyone if I didn’t take it.”

“Shit,” Anna breathed, running a hand through her hair. Castiel had no idea what she was cursing about. She didn’t seem inclined to explain. “Well then, you wouldn’t want to disappoint Dean Winchester, would you?”

“That’s so manipulative, Anna,” Castiel said exasperatedly. “But no, I wouldn’t.”

Her smile was tight.

“You know, I think there’s more to him than meets the eye,” he said. Anna quirked an eyebrow. “He used the word ‘thespian.’ Correctly.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, so deep. Break out the champagne, Dean Winchester knows a word.”

“Shut up.” Castiel punched her lightly in the shoulder. “He also talked like he’s seen more than one audition. Said mine was the best,” he added with a blush.

Anna studied him closely for a moment before sighing.

“Just don’t get hurt, Cas,” she said, tone turning serious. “I’ll rip his nuts off.”

Castiel snorted. “Noted.”

He spent a lot of time that night thinking about what to do about the part. He spent an equal amount of time thinking about Dean’s hands on his shoulders, the little caress he probably wasn’t even aware of making. Castiel was deep in a fantasy where those hands slid a little lower than his shoulders when his phone buzzed and startled him.

It was from Gabe.

‘You owe me $20.’

Cas groaned.

 

**Chapter 2**

Dean sat on the fly bar in the stage left area of The Victorian, watching as Bobby rigged a new stage light to a batten.

The theatre was old, falling apart. The velvet upholstery on the seating was stained, faded, and running thin in spots. The gold trimmings and filigrees along the proscenium that framed the stage were peeling and needed to be resurfaced. The aisles were sticky with who knows what, as pop and alcohol was not allowed in the theatre, but somehow the grime from the outside had seeped in anyway. The stage was scuffed and little pieces of marking tape clung stubbornly to it. The audio system was to tell the actors to speak louder. The electrical system for the lights was old, finicky, and took a little extra love and patience to get set right.

It was an old theater and Dean, quite secretly, loved the shit out of it.

Bobby had been bringing them here in their free time since he was 6 and Sammy was 2. Sam had been manning the light board before he could speak in full sentences. Really, it was no wonder that the shrimp loved theater so much.

Dean did too. He could feel the stories and the soul, the creativity and humanity in the bones of the stage. He’d watched Bobby build sets and string up lights since as long as he could remember. There were few things as magical as watching a show come together.

Of course it had taken him years to admit his love of theatre to himself. And when he finally did, he threw himself into it completely. He pulled up Youtube videos when the house was quiet and dark and watched show after show.  Looked up Wiki articles to learn about the actors. Researched stage terms. Livestreamed the Tonys with glee under a blanket in his room.

Dad could never, ever know. He’d begrudgingly accepted Sam’s Thespian side. He would never accept both of them being theatre nuts.

Sam on the other hand… Sam would be more understanding, but after years of Dean giving him crap, he’d be sure to sling that back in his face at every chance he got. Like hell Dean was giving him that ammo.

No, it was better if absolutely no one ever knew.

But Sam’s taunt when he signed up for tech at school had given him a chance to sign up without giving anything away. So while he will grumble as he drives Sam to tech rehearsals, he’ll be geeking out the whole way.

“Dean!” Bobby yelled from across the stage. “If you’re going to sit by the lines, make yourself useful, and fly this bar up. It’ll need another 25-pound weight.”

Dean turned to where the levers that controlled the fly system were labeled with sequential numbers to mark them.

“What number?” Dean hollered back.

“Twelve.”

Dean spotted number twelve and then headed to the weights piled in the back corner. He hauled it over to line twelve and pushed the weight into place. Then he popped the safety clip off, grasped the rope, and lowered the locking lever to release its grip on the rope. He hollered clear and pulled up on the rope, watching the batten raise up. He stopped when it was level with the rest of the flies in the loft. Bobby could tweak it from there.

Bobby was watching him with a knowing stare from the stage.

“What?” Dean hollered. “If you want it done better, next time ask somebody who gives a shit about all of this stuff.”

“Idjit,” Bobby mumbled, taking his eyes from Dean to walk around the stage, evaluating the lighting on the current set for _South Pacific_.

Dean sighed. He needed to remember to grumble more.

That was going to be hard to do at school, especially if Castiel was there. Hearing him sing made him feel like he was in the presence of divinity. His heart felt light, his insides warm. He’d only vaguely known who Castiel was before, from sharing classes and such, but after his audition, Dean wondered how he ever could have missed him.

He’d meant everything he’d said to the guy, too. Castiel was going to be a star.

“Dean!” Sam hollered in his ear. From his slightly annoyed, slightly worried expression, Dean gathered that he had called his name more than once. “It’s eight thirty.”

“Alright, jeez,” Dean groused, picking up his backpack from the corner.

Sam had a show he had to watch every Monday at 9:00 pm. He was pretty vigilant about making it home in time, no matter what was going on at The Victorian.

“So who is she?”

“What?”

“You were deep in thought over there, making a dopey-faced, love-struck look.”

Had he? That was… not good. Castiel was not a girl. He didn’t feel that way about him. How many little things had he been making dopey-faced looks about? Was he a dopey-faced slut?

“I was not,” Dean protested.

Sam shot him a side glare as they opened the door to the back parking lot, but he didn’t press further.

Small miracles.

~

Cas had only one class with Dean, which was utterly unfair, but hey, that’s life.

The point was, he had only one chance to let Dean know that he’d taken the part. Not that Dean needed to know, but he had played a significant part in his acceptance of it, so he should tell him. Right?

That was the theory, anyway.

Maybe it was more of an excuse.

Whatever.

It was sort of moot when he got to class a second before the bell rung and had no time to approach him. They sat on opposite sides of the room in assigned seating that rotated quarterly, so whispering was out, even if he was willing to risk it in Mrs. Beranger’s class. Similarly, there was no way in hell he was going to start passing notes. Mrs. B. was terrifying.

So he’d try to catch Dean after class.

Thus he spent the next 90 minutes utterly not listening to a word on the discussion about Julius Caesar. That’s right, they couldn’t even be like a normal school where the agony would end in 45 minutes. No. They had to be a school with “block scheduling,” which meant that each class was 90 minutes long, but only lasted a semester. Same number of classes, just less time spent walking between them.

Fortunately, the next block was lunch for their class, so if he could catch Dean, they wouldn’t be rushed.

89 and 5 billion minutes later, he managed to catch the assignment Mrs. B was explaining, and then packed his stuff as fast as possible.

He looked up, and his heart sank. Dean was already gone.

Cas resigned himself to a mediocre lunch with Hannah and left the room. He’d see Dean at practice sooner or later anyway.

He’d taken three steps into the hallway when a large hand landed harshly on his shoulder from behind. He was spun around quickly and found himself staring into two beautiful, unmistakable, green eyes.

Dean grinned. “Thought you’d never get out of there.”

“Um…” Cas stammered. He was about to say, ‘I was looking for you,’ but thought better of it.

Luckily, Dean didn’t really expect a response. “Tell me you took the part.” The hand he had left on Castiel’s shoulder squeezed ever so slightly as he spoke.

Cas smiled shyly and nodded.

“Yes!” Dean said, punching the air. Castiel’s blush deepened. He could NOT have been great enough to be worthy of this response.

“Yes, well, when I puke on the entire front row and ruin their shoes, I’ll be sure they know who to blame.”

Castiel said it in jest, but the way Dean’s smile wavered made him wonder if he’d put more venom into it than he meant.

“You’ll be great,” Dean said. “Next Lin-Manuel Miranda.”

When Castiel tilted his head questioningly, Dean blushed.

“Uh. Yeah, um. Sam left the TV on one night and I heard a name…” he palmed the back of his neck. That was really cute. “I should go. To lunch. I should. Yep.”

With that incredibly awkward goodbye, Dean turned and headed towards the cafeteria, his ears so crimson that Castiel suspected they would be hot to the touch.

So Dean could be a bit of a dork.

Why was that so attractive?

Shaking his head to clear it of thoughts of Dean, (it didn’t work), Castiel headed off to his own lunch.

~

Rehearsals started the next day. For him and the other lead characters, anyway. The schedule was pretty intense. They were going to be spending nearly every day either in the choir room or the theatre, practicing the music or working on lines and staging.

He sat awkwardly in the choir room with six other people, all of whom apparently knew each other much better than he knew any of them. He recognized Kevin, a smart kid he’d met at a chess club meeting once or twice, but they’d never hung out before. Still, Kevin was the only one who’d given him a head nod of acknowledgement when he’d walked in.

There were three girls, and Cas recognized Charlie from auditions. A petite blonde girl Cas was pretty sure went by Jo was sitting with her, and the third girl, with curly brown hair and a stern heart shaped face that scared the shit out of him, was sitting to the side. He had no idea what her name was and suspected she had transferred to the school recently.

When Castiel scanned over the remaining male faces in the room, he realized he really should have looked closer at the casting list. Then maybe he wouldn’t feel quite so much like an idiot.

“Alright,” came Pamela’s voice from the back hallway where her office was. Her heels echoed on the floor. “Let’s get this show off the floor.” She stopped in front of the group and put her hands on her hips, surveying the room. “I’m Pamela, the choir director and orchestral director for _Rent_. You’re almost all in choir with me, and I wouldn’t even have had to introduce myself if it wasn’t this young man over here.”

Castiel startled when Pamela nodded in his direction. She winked at him, and it only made him blush more. At least he knew she was teasing and not angry, but he was mortified at being called out like that in front of everyone.

And he was going to act on stage? What the fuck was he doing here?

“Care to introduce yourself, Mr. Mysterious who is Too-Good-for-Choir?”

“Um. Hi. I’m Castiel.”

The small group stared. Pamela actually rolled her eyes at him. “Very informative. Look kiddo, let me give you some advice. This group is going to be your family for the next month. We all know each other. Now I don’t know why I haven’t seen you before or where you’ve been hiding, but your next month will be a lot more fun if we knew more than your name.”

“I…” Castiel said, looking away. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Why did you try out?”

Castiel still couldn’t bring himself to look at the group. “Because RENT is my favorite musical of all time. I didn’t even think I’d get a role.”

He heard a snort and looked up. Kevin was shaking his head. “With chops like that? Where the hell, erm—“ he shot Pamela a look but she didn’t say anything “—heck, did you learn to sing like that?”

Castiel rolled a shoulder. “I’ve had private lessons since I was a kid.”

“So why haven’t you tried out before?” asked the girl Castiel thought was Jo. “Or joined choir?”

Those were good questions that Castiel didn’t have good answers for. The answer to the first was a little easier, because obviously the stage fright had been the main factor. But choir? How did he tell these people that he just… didn’t think it was for him? The stage fright wasn’t as much an issue because he’d be just a pip in a large sea. But that was just it. He was a loner. He didn’t need large groups.

“Stage fright?” Castiel said, unconvincingly, and less explanatory than they were probably hoping for.

“And now you’re playing Mark,” Pamela said, taking control of the conversation again.

“Yeah,” Castiel said. “Yeah, this was a bad idea, I should quit now—“ He was standing up, he was going to leave, he was so stupid to think he could do this.

“Sit down,” Pamela said. Her voice was stern, but almost sounded bored. “You’re a part of this family now, kiddo, we’re all going to get you through this. Because you deserve this part.” She looked over the other people in the room, and several of them nodded in agreement.

Castiel felt a little piece of himself, a piece that he didn’t even know he had, come loose and lodge itself in his throat. He had no words, so he gave a curt jerk of his head to indicate that he understood.

He sat back down, was instructed to stand back up seconds later, (you have more access to your diaphragm when standing), and learned what it was to warm up his voice with a group instead of by himself.

Turned out that blending his voice with others came as second nature, and that finding a note to make a harmony was a new type of challenge he hadn’t faced before. The hour of vocal training was, if he was honest with himself, probably the most fun he’d had singing in the last year. Maybe ever. He loved singing, but it wasn’t necessarily fun or rewarding in the way it was that day.

That had to bode well for the next few weeks, right?

The next challenge was facing the stage.

~

Dean was supposed to be building a set in the workroom behind the stage. Specifically, he was supposed to be working on the flat for Mark and Roger. But he couldn’t stop looking over at Castiel.

Only the main cast was present for the Saturday rehearsal, and they were blocking a scene in the specific set he was _supposed_ to be building. That is to say, they were running lines while figuring out who would be standing where while saying it. Mrs. Moseley was giving some direction, but also letting the actor’s natural decisions guide them.

Castiel was obviously uncomfortable. His body language was stiff and his movements were stilted. He kept shooting glances at the empty theater, and if he was given too long to stare into the nothingness, he’d forget his lines.

Charlie and Jo caught Dean staring once, because of course they did. Jo and him had been friends since they were kids, so it was easy to play it off like he’d been watching them. He waved, and they both looked at him like he was nuts.

“Cas,” Kevin called. “That’s your line.”

“Oh,” he said, turning back to him. He lifted his script. “Right. Um.”

Dean didn’t hear the line, as that was when Rufus, the set designer, hit the band saw. But he did hear, after Castiel delivered the line, Kevin say, “Don’t look out there, man, it’s messing with you.”

“We have an understudy for this guy, right?”

Dean recognized her bored, condescending tone. That was Meg Masters. She hadn’t been at their school long, but he’d already figured out that she was completely evil. Ambitious and out for herself, and Dean had no idea how she made the cast, let alone got one of the leads.

A black kid with a strict manner about him smacked her upside the head. “Be nice,” he said after she yelped and rubbed her head. She looked for Mrs. Moseley, but she was consulting a notebook and hadn’t seen anything. She was smirking though.

Kevin eyed the black kid and said, “Thanks, Victor.”

“Anything for my angel,” he responded with a wink.

Ah, so that was Angel and Tom Collins. They looked like an odd pairing that strangely made sense. Just like Angel and Tom Collins.

Castiel shuffled awkwardly, and nodded his head toward Victor in his own sort of thanks.

“Dean!”

He looked up with a startled jerk to find Rufus staring at him with a frown.

“Um.”

“Pick up that hammer boy, I didn’t give it to you to drool over.”

“Right,” Dean said, finding the wayward hammer on the ground, picking up and waving it towards Rufus to show he had it. Rufus rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath that Dean was glad he didn’t fully hear.

He tried to stare less at Castiel after that, but he only somewhat succeeded. He saw enough to know that Castiel’s practice didn’t really improve much by the time they all called it a day at 5:00.

They had started clean up in the work room before the cast called it quits, so when he saw the group picking up their bags and getting ready to leave, he knew he had a chance to catch Cas.

Castiel was slower than everyone else, seemed a little lost in his thoughts, and thus was alone in the stage left wing when Dean approached.

“Hey, Cas!” he called, jogging over.

“Dean,” Castiel said, a slight note of surprise in his voice. He blinked a few times. “Hi.”

“Hey um, I just—“ He just what? He had not thought this through. What did he want? “I just wanted to say that I’m glad you took the part.”

Castiel smiled sardonically. “Yes, well, I’m not sure any of my fellow cast members are equally as glad. I’m not very good at this.”

“Yes you are,” Dean said automatically.

“At singing? Yes. Remembering lines? Paying attention instead of freaking out, not so much.”

“Ah, well. That’s…” Dean palmed the back of his neck. “You can work at that, you’ll get better.”

“We can only hope,” he said with a sad little laugh.

Somehow, Dean felt responsible. Which was ridiculous. Castiel had auditioned of his own volition, and he took the part. Of his own volition. Sure, Dean had nudged him, but it’s not like he’d twisted the guy’s arm.

He had, maybe, come off as a bit of a crazy fanboy though.

“I could, um, help?” Dean said, cringing at himself. Did he really just say that.

Castiel’s jaw dropped. Well then. That confirms that he did indeed say it.

“Really?” Castiel asked. His voice was tinged gently with hope and his eyes were wide.

“Yeah, I could, ya know, run lines with you and stuff. Maybe if you’re more comfortable with that, you’ll be more confident on stage.”

Oh sweet Hendrix. How would he explain that one to his dad?

Castiel nodded slowly, his mouth working, finally saying, “I… I think I’d like that.”

“Cool,” Dean said, grinning. “When do you want to start?”

“Now?” Castiel suggested. “We could go to my house, Anna’s making meatballs.”

That, that was perfect. Sam hadn’t even had practice or tech work today, something about not needing to get started yet as lights take less time to setup, so he wouldn’t have to drop Sasquatch off. He’d just call Dad and let him know he was hanging out with a friend tonight and would be home by 11:00, and they could run lines for the evening.

Not exactly the side of theater he’d ever pictured himself on, but that was okay. Castiel seemed cool, this could be fun.

“Meatballs sound perfect.”

They grabbed their bags and Dean followed Cas out of the theater and to the student parking lot. His jaw dropped when Castiel walked over to an old, gold Lincoln Continental. It looked like a freaking pimpmobile. Not that his was much better, nothing like his dad’s badass ’67 Impala, but at least he wasn’t going to attract any prostitutes with it.

“Follow me?” Castiel asked. “I don’t live far.”

Dean nodded, trying to drag his eyes away from the vehicle, and biting his lips to keep from making a wisecrack. Instead he spent the entire 6-minute drive telling lewd and improper jokes to himself and was not ready to compose himself when they pulled into Castiel’s driveway.

Castiel parked and, when Dean didn’t follow him to the door, cocked his head to the side. Before he could approach, Dean scrambled for his cell phone, and quickly called home. He held a finger up, indicating that Cas should wait. It rang twice and a gruff voice answered.

“Dad,” Dean said, “I’m heading to a friend’s house for dinner. I’ll be home later.”

“You just left that theater thing, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re with one of the theater weirdos?”

Dean clenched the fist not holding his phone and willed himself not to scream. “We’re working on a history project.”

Not that John had ever cared that much what kind of grades he got, but it was something he understood better than theater. Even if it was a blatant lie. Dean didn’t feel bad about it, lying was about the only way to navigate his dad on some topics.

“Home by eleven,” John groused.

“Eleven,” Dean agreed. The line went dead. “Well then,” Dean said, making a face at his phone.

A light tap at the window of the car made Dean jump. It was Castiel, staring at him with concern.

Dean opened the door and Castiel backed up, letting him out.

“Sorry, had to call my dad, let him know I was eating here.”

Castiel nodded. “Of course, he cares about you.”

“Uh,” Dean said, “Sure.”

It was, perhaps, the least convincing thing he’d ever said. His dad did care. Especially when he was sober and neither Sam nor Dean were doing anything he didn’t approve of.

Castiel led him into the house. The entry way was open and airy. Open to the left was a sitting area with a couch, two green armchairs, and a TV mounted above a fireplace. From there, Dean could see the dining room with an arch, and another arch to the right of that and directly across from them showed a kitchen. There was probably no wall between them, though Dean couldn’t see that yet. There was a hallway leading away on the right, and immediately next to them, also on the right, was a door, cracked open by a few inches, revealing a small room. It was filled with a ginormous desk, books stacked everywhere, a monitor’s cool glow lighting the room, and a curly haired man passed out in front of it.

“Well whatever your dad is, at least he’s conscious.”

Dean snorted. “Depends on how many beers he’s had.”

Castiel frowned. “Does he drink that much?”

“Only ever since mom died.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, blinking rapidly. “I’m so sorry, Dean. How recent?”

“Thirteen years.”

“I see.” Castiel shuffled awkwardly for a moment. “I never knew my mom. Not sure which is worse.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s not a competition.”

It would be a pretty stupid thing to have a competition about. So they both didn’t have moms, and had dads with problems. That just meant that they both had been dealt crappy hands in life.

“Cas?” a female voice rang out down the hallway.

“Anna,” Castiel called back. “We have company.”

A beautiful red head stopped dead when she reached the entry way.

“Dean,” she said softly. “Hi.”

Oh shit. Was he supposed to know her? Anna… Anna… Nope, he was drawing a blank.

Anna frowned. “Can’t place me, can you?”

Dean palmed the back of his neck. “Uh…” Crap. Had they made out? More? He didn’t usually forget a girl he’d been intimate with. It wasn’t just that he didn’t know her name. Her face was only passingly familiar.

He didn’t like the look Anna shot Castiel, but when she spoke again, she was casual enough. “Meatballs are ready to go, just warming in the crockpot. C’mon.”

Anna got out plates while Castiel set out glasses. They moved in the kitchen like two people that frequently moved in the kitchen together. Within minutes, Dean had a huge meatball sandwich, a glass of water, and a side of broccoli. Which he really didn’t give two shits about, not with the tasty meatfest in front of him, but he ate it anyway to be polite.

Castiel told Anna about practice while they ate, and she asked Dean some polite questions about the set. It wasn’t the easiest conversation, but it wasn’t exactly awkward either.

After the plates were cleared and loaded in the dishwasher, Castiel opened the fridge and tossed Dean a can of Coke. He came out with one for himself and led the way back to his bedroom at the end of the hallway.

“Dean,” Castiel said formally before turning around to face Dean head on. “I want to thank you for helping me. But I wouldn’t blame you if you… you know…”

“Changed my mind?” Dean ventured. Castiel nodded. “Nope.”

Castiel smiled. A full smile with a little bit of nose crinkling and a little bit of gums. It made Dean smile back automatically.

“Okay,” Castiel said, though it looked like he had swallowed down a different reply, like he’d been prepared for Dean to say something else. He rubbed his hands together. “I think the hardest scene I’m going to have is when Angel dies, at the funeral.”

Dean blinked twice. “Why that?”

“Because it’s the most emotional. I can’t… I can’t even imagine being HIV positive back then.”

The can of coke hissed as Dean slid his finger beneath the tab and popped it open. He helped himself to a seat on Castiel’s bed and took a sip of the bubbly beverage.

“I don’t know much about it. Angel’s character was always the least accessible to me.”

Because he’s seen _Rent_ more than once. Was Castiel going to catch on to that? Damn, he was not being careful.

“Angel?” Castiel said, sitting down on the bed at the other end. “I mean, I don’t have a lot in common with him either, but I admired his freedom, his complete lack of concern about what others thought. He just… was who he was. Even if sometimes that meant he presented as a girl.”

Dean was quiet for a long moment, staring at his pop can. He was thinking about Angel and what it would be like to just be himself all the time, whatever that may be. That would certainly be a change.

Cas cleared his throat. “Anyway. I made a second copy of the script earlier, in case Anna wanted to help me.”

He turned behind and reached for an old wooden desk. A patch of skin above his waistband was exposed as Castiel’s shirt rode up and Dean’s gaze was drawn to it. Smooth skin, light from the longer winter and lack of sun. He could feel himself staring, and couldn’t make himself stop.

He tried not to jump when Castiel thrusted a script at him.

There it was. A script. For a real show. Looking at all the words, he was suddenly nervous. Why had he offered this? He didn’t know anything about acting. He knew a lot about sets, and he knew what looked and sounded good on stage, and he knew that what looked and sounded good on stage was not him.

“Dean?” Castiel asked. He placed a hand on Dean’s knee and Dean looked up. “The offer still stands. If you want to… to leave. I won’t blame you. You don’t owe me anything.”

“No,” Dean said, shuffling a script he didn’t really need. “No, let’s do this. I’m not going to be, like, good at this or anything.”

“You don’t have to be,” Castiel said. “Just read the lines, I’ll work on mine.”

Dean shifted on the bed. “Okay. How do we start?”

Castiel gave him the page number, instructed him to read anything non-highlighted and they were off.

 

**Chapter 3**

Castiel laughed as Kevin shook his ass in his newly approved costume skirt.

“You look like an idiot,” Meg groused, not even looking up from her magazine.

“I think it suits him,” Castiel said.

“Yeah,” Kevin agreed, smoothing the skirt down. “I might have to keep this when the play is over. It’s so freeing.”

“Well they certainly did cast Angel well,” said their ‘Roger.’ His name was as weird as Castiel’s own. Gadreel. Castiel felt sorry for the person having to type up their programs and show shirts. They were probably constantly spell checking the names.

Castiel nodded in agreement.

His vision of Kevin’s orange floral skirt was temporarily cut off as the lights dimmed and came back up.

They were at practice, trying out some costume pieces for the first time. It was still early but their costume department had already found some outfits and they were trying them on. Lighting was also present and trying out some light settings, which meant Sam was present. Which meant Dean…

Dean was sprawled in the seats, watching the cast make asses of themselves. Castiel looked for Dean and was surprised to find him already looking back. When he met Dean’s gaze, he blushed and looked away sharply.

That wasn’t the first time he’d caught Dean looking at him. Which was very, very unfortunate, because Castiel wanted to spend more time looking at Dean, and he was making that quite impossible.

It had only been one week since they started running lines together, and with Castiel’s busy rehearsal schedule, that meant they’d only met up twice since the first night. Dean was definitely loosening up about it, and Castiel was starting to remember his lines more easily. And when he didn’t have to think as hard about his lines, practice went smoother.

What wasn’t getting easier was being around Dean. Alone. In his bedroom. Without spontaneously shoving his tongue down Dean’s throat.

Dean was beautiful, and he had no qualms with regards to casual touch. And if there was any chance Dean’s gaze meant he was as into Cas as Cas was into Dean, he’d… Well he’d probably still have a hard time making the first move, but the point was moot. Dean looked at him, but it was with something akin to curiosity. Dean was straight, and that was that.

Which Dean took to reminding him about the very next time they met up. They were back in Castiel’s bedroom, sprawled on Castiel’s bed, and all Dean could talk about was Lisa this, and Cassie that. He’d mentioned a cute girl before, but he’d never been this incessant, like he was making a point.

What that point might be, Castiel had no idea.

“Yeah, okay Dean. I get it, girls are hot or something, whatever,” Castiel finally snapped. He threw his script to the side and popped open the Coke he had grabbed earlier.

Dean’s grin faltered. “’Whatever’?”

“Yeah. Whatever. I don’t really care.”

“About girls?”

“About girls,” Castiel confirmed. “They make good friends. Charlie is, quite frankly, one of the funniest women I’ve ever known. But I have no interest in ‘tapping that.’”

“Well,” Dean said. “Charlie is gay.”

“Yeah, but the reason I don’t want to fuck her is that _I’m gay_.”

Dean froze. Castiel froze. Suddenly he didn’t want to look at Dean at all.

Damn it, had he said that? He wasn’t exactly in the closet, but it was clear Dean didn’t know that about him, and what if… What if he had an issue with this? What if he was homophobic? What if being alone in Castiel’s bedroom was suddenly uncomfortable and disturbing? Oh god.

“Cas,” Dean said, sitting forward and nudging his knee. “Breathe. I don’t care.”

Castiel sucked in a deep breath. “Are you sure? You kinda froze on me there.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I love Charlie, and I know she’s gay. Why would it be different with you?”

“Um. Because Charlie couldn’t possibly be attracted to you? Aren’t you worried I’m going to, like, perv out on you? Take advantage of you in my bedroom?”

Dean paused and licked his lips. It was absolutely mesmerizing, damn that tongue. Dean did that a lot when he was thinking. Then he replied simply, “Of course not, Cas. You’re not that kind of guy, and I’m not that type of girl.”

Castiel snorted. It was followed with a little laugh that Dean echoed. They shared a glance and suddenly the complete irony of Dean’s statement had them cackling with laughter.

“I’m glad I don’t have to hide around you, Dean,” Castiel said with sincerity as the laughter died down. He had to wipe a tear away from his eye, he’d been laughing so hard.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, softly.

Blessedly, Dean stopped raging on about his girl crushes after that, which improved Castiel’s mood significantly.

“So,” Castiel said as he finished his coke. “I think I need help with _Tango Maureen_. It’ll only be me and Jo on stage and that terrifies me.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, that would terrify me, too.”

Castiel snickered before slapping on a serious, horrified face. “Dean, she’s my cast mate, I shouldn’t—“

“Be terrified of her? I don’t think loyalty is going to make much of a difference, there.”

Castiel whacked Dean’s leg with a script. “You know what I mean. I shouldn’t make fun of her.”

Dean’s grin dropped. “I was teasing, Cas. I’ve known Jo since I was two. She can be terrifying, especially if you try to take her juice pack. But trust me, Cas, she’ll have your back on that stage.”

“I know, but she shouldn’t have to. Just, run the lines with me? You don’t have to sing the lines if you don’t want, but I’m going to sing mine.”

Dean glanced to his script and back up. “I don’t know, will that work?”

“It’ll help,” Castiel confessed. He handed Dean a copy of the vocal music. “Please?”

Dean swallowed one more time before saying, “If it’ll help, sure. But that’s the only reason, you know this isn’t my thing.”

Castiel smiled, pleased Dean had said yes. He still didn’t understand why Dean was doing this, since it was obvious his feelings towards theatre were muddied, but he was sure glad Dean was willing to help. He was doing much better at practice, and the fact that he was getting to spend more time with Dean didn’t hurt either.

“Alright, so let’s start here in the script and move into the song where it indicates.”

Castiel pointed Dean to the appropriate page and they were off.

The thing about _Tango Maureen_ is that it’s, well, a tango. It’s filled with energy and chemistry and it just freaking sizzles. It’s impossible to not get into the number. At least, that was always true for Castiel, but Dean seemed incredibly reluctant to start.

‘Seemed’ and ‘start’ being the operative words.  Once they got past some of the speaking parts, Dean shocked Castiel by singing Joanne’s lines. And either his sight reading was incredibly good, or he’d heard the number a couple, or dozens, of times.

Either way, it helped Castiel get into character, and pretty soon he and Dean were gesturing at each other across the bed, singing loud, and Castiel was praying they hadn’t interrupted his dad’s work. Or nap. Whichever.

Then they got to the part where Joanne and Mark were actually supposed to tango. To Castiel’s amazement, Dean reached out a hand across the bed and pulled Castiel up.

Conforming slightly more to Castiel’s expectations, Dean really had no idea how to tango. But that didn’t stop him from trying, leading Castiel across the small expanse that was his room with a serious look on his face that made Castiel want to crack up.

When Dean tried to dip him, he finally lost it. He folded into himself, cackling loud. Dean joined the mirth, falling backwards onto the bed and holding his stomach as he laughed, his voice deep and beautiful.

A zip of arousal went up Castiel’s spine at the sight. He could crawl straight onto Dean, in his bed, straddle him…

Castiel shook his head as the laughter died. _Not that kind of guy_.

~

“Ugh,” Kevin bemoaned, looking at his burger. “They forgot to take the onion off.”

“I’ll take it!” Charlie chimed in, reaching across the group circle for the onion. Kevin handed it to her between pinched fingers, his face scrunched up in disgust.

Jo elbowed Charlie when she sat back down and whispered in her ear. Dean couldn’t hear what was said, but Charlie looked sharply at the onion and then tossed it into her paper to-go bag, crumbled the bag closed, and tossed it towards the trashcan back in the middle of the work bay.

It was another Saturday practice and the cast and crew on site had decided to break for lunch around 1:00. Dean, not being as vital to rehearsal, had offered to take orders and make a food run to Wendy’s.

Castiel was chuckling next to Dean.

“Are our Maureen and Joanne experiencing some character bleed?” Cas asked with a knowing smirk.

Jo and Charlie glanced at each other, blushed and giggled.

“What?” Dean asked, confused. “Wait, I missed something.”

“It’s not important, Dean,” Castiel said gently, shooting an apologetic look at the ladies in question. “Forget I—“

“No, it’s okay, Cas,” Jo said. “We don’t mind. We’re together, Dean. Charlie and I.”

Dean stared for a moment, his burger temporarily forgotten. “Seriously?” Pain exploded in his arm as Castiel punched him. “Ow! Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I just. I didn’t know you were gay, Jo.”

“I’m not,” Jo said.

“Um.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “The term is bisexual, Dean.”

“We do exist,” Jo confirmed, taking a huge bite out of her own burger.

“I know you exist, Jo,” Dean said with a smirk. “You left a scar on my leg to remind me of it for the rest of my life.”

Cas looked at Dean questioningly, so Dean shrugged his shoulders and mouthed, ‘Later.’ Castiel nodded his understanding.

“I always wondered about that,” Victor said, chiming in. Everyone looked at him. “I mean, with Maureen, in the play. She was with Mark, and then Joanne. Wouldn’t that make her bisexual? Why did Mrs. Moseley call her a lesbian?”

“Because Mrs. Moseley is crazy,” Jo said sarcastically. Her eyes widened comically, Dean assumed because she’d just remembered where they were, and looked around for their teacher to make sure she hadn’t heard.

She was safe.

“It’s complicated,” Castiel said with a loose shrug. “Some people don’t realize they’re bisexual until later in life, resisting the idea that they might not be ‘normal.’” He put literally finger air quotes around it and Dean could help but find it adorable. Castiel met his gaze briefly before it flittered away and he continued speaking. “And of course sexuality can be fluid, too. Maureen could be a lesbian, or bisexual, we don’t really know.”

“Hey,” Charlie said, “I play her, I know.”

“So what is she?” Victor prompted.

“As queer as me and Jo and Cas!”

Dean choked on his burger. He’d literally just inhaled the hunk of meat when he heard Charlie use the word queer. As he bent over and sputtered, Castiel patted him on the back comfortingly.

“Breathe, Dean,” Castiel said, helpfully. “It’s just a word. And a tricky way to get out of answering properly.” He shot Charlie an accusatory look, but she just smirked and took another bite into her burger.

Castiel’s hand slid slowly off Dean’s back as he straightened, leaving a trail of heat on Dean’s skin.

He quickly picked up his coke and chugged as much bubbly cola as he could, not looking at his friend.

“You forgot a name,” came a voice from across the stage. Meg was sitting away from the group, and had been staring mindlessly at her cell phone while she ate. She was still staring mindlessly at her phone, but apparently had been listening none the less.

“What?” Charlie asked.

“You forgot a name,” Meg repeated. “In your list of gay buds.” She crumbled up her wrapper and stood. Everyone watched her walk to the trashcan and then out of the room, never bothering to elaborate.

“Wonder what she meant by that,” Kevin mused.

Gadreel, who was also sitting slightly outside of the larger circle, spoke up. “I wouldn’t put too much thought into it.”

“Why?” Kevin asked.

“Cause that’s what she wants you to do,” Gadreel responded. He didn’t elaborate.

After a moment of silence, Jo shook herself and spoke. “So what are we doing after break?”

“Tango Maureen and a few scenes after,” Castiel replied. “You ready?”

“Yeah, should be fun,” Jo said, brushing off her hands on her jeans and standing up. “Are you though? Ready?”

“Of course,” Castiel replied, following her lead and uncrossing his legs to stand up.

“Huh,” Charlie said, leaning back from her spot on the floor, looking up to Castiel.

“What?” Castiel asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing, It’s just…”

“You seem so much more comfortable with everything lately,” Jo finished for her girlfriend. “More outgoing and open to us. More confident. More happy.”

Castiel glanced to Dean, who said nothing. Inside, he was screaming, _don’t tell them_.

“I’ve been practicing,” Castiel said. He added a shrug for good measure, and that was that.

As the cast got back into rehearsal and Dean returned to the set construction group, pondering what had just happened. He’d never asked for Cas to keep it between them, so that he did meant either Cas hadn’t wanted them to know either, or that he picked up on Dean’s wishes. Maybe his telepathy was working after all.

If he didn’t want people to know his secret—about liking theatre of course—he was going to have to be more careful. He’d sat with the cast while the rest of the crew had spread out in the shop. That had probably looked odd.

But he was already friends with Jo and Charlie, and Kevin and Victor were pretty cool too, so maybe it was okay?

He thought about it while he worked, wondered if he was cracking up to be thinking about it this much, and inevitably his attention turned to what Meg had said about Charlie forgetting a name on her list. Because it was impossible she meant him, right? Surely she meant Kevin. Or, or Victor? Cause Dean wasn’t gay. He wasn’t into guys.

No offense to Cas or anything. Being into guys was fine. He just wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Let Castiel go out and hit on guys, and touch guys, and stare into their deep blue eyes. Let him kiss their plush lips, grip their round, perfect asses. Let Cas become enamored with their masculine voices, which sounded god-like when they sang.

Dean glanced at the stage, watched Castiel’s ass move as he danced with Jo.

He resolutely picked up a hammer and drove it as hard as he could into the nail in front of him, leaving the imprint of the hammer’s head on the innocent wood.

Being into guys was Castiel’s thing. Dean was straight.

He just needed to think about something else. Meg was in his damn head.

So he sang show tunes to himself while he worked. Which was perhaps not the manliest way to prove he was straight, but at least trying to remember all of the “favorite things” in _Sound of Music_ kept his mind busy.

It worked too. He was feeling much more like himself, had managed to drown out everything else.

“I don’t think you heard the set designer say, but when you’re done, you need to put the tools away and pull the door shut behind you.”

Dean looked up with a start. Castiel was perched on an overturned plaster bucket not five feet away.

“What?”

“Everyone left 20 minutes ago, Dean,” Castiel explained. “I figured you were wrapping up, so I was talking with Jo and Charlie out in the parking lot. They’re quite entertaining, you know.”

“I know,” Dean said dazedly. He looked around the stage and the work area, and they were, indeed, alone. “Sorry,” he finally said, palming the back of his neck. “Guess I lost track of time.”

“You were definitely thinking about _something_ awfully hard.”

Dean let out a bark of awkward laughter. “I was singing… Never mind. Let me clean up and we can go. I assume you want to run more lines?” He picked up the hammer and his bucket of nails and took them over to the tool cabinet.

“I was thinking we could go to your place this time,” Castiel suggested. “If that’s okay. I’d like to see your house, meet your dad.”

Dean froze with his back to Castiel. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said stiffly.

“Oh,” Castiel said. “Okay.”

Dean put the hammer away and turned around to see that Castiel had shrunken into himself defensively, looking to the side instead of meeting Dean’s eye. He’d hurt his feelings. He wasn’t sure how, but he had.

“It’s not…” Dean started. He sighed. Cas deserved an explanation. He grabbed another bucket and pulled it up to Cas, taking a seat. “It’s not anything personal, Cas. My dad hates musicals, that’s all. Thinks only girls and weak men do musicals. He’d flip if we came home and were singing La Vie Bohème together.” _He’d assume we were fucking and I’d be beaten blue before being tossed on the street._

Okay, maybe that’s not fair. But it probably wasn’t exactly a non-possibility either. Probably.

Castiel was quiet for a long moment. Dean forced himself to not shuffle nervously.

“Is that why you pretend to hate the theatre?”

Dean had several reactions, all following each other almost immediately. The first was panic, because that was his _secret,_ damn it.

But before the panic could take hold, the second reaction kicked in. Which was something akin to relief. Castiel knew. He didn’t even have to tell him, he’d just figured it out.

Which was troubling, so there was the third reaction. Because if Cas had figured it out, how many other people knew? Or would know soon? God he was so stupid to think that he could do theatre under the guise of being forced to because of Sam. Of course people were going to see through that. Considering Sam still didn’t even have to be at practice or construction yet, it was a pretty flimsy excuse.

“Dean?” Castiel prompted.

“How did you know?”

Castiel snorted. “Dean, you know every word to _Tango Maureen_ , you didn’t even have to look at the script.”

“Oh.”

“But I suspected before that. You knew the word ‘thespian’ and didn’t make it a crude joke. And you cared so much about me taking the role, about the show itself,” Castiel explained. “And the set. Dean, you know how to build a set. You know your way around a stage. When someone asks you to grab something from downstage stage right, you don’t bat an eye.”

“Heh,” Dean said, palming his thighs nervously. “Too smart for my own good then.”

“I don’t think anyone else has noticed, but Dean, you have to know, no one would care. Not here.”

Dean didn’t respond. That was, probably, technically true. He knew it was true. That didn’t mean it was easy to suddenly admit to everybody that you are something other than what you said you were. Maybe he could ease into it, but the idea made his stomach turn.

He stood up and grabbed the only other tool that he was responsible for, a small drill, and turned to put it away. He paused.

“I’ll talk to my dad about you coming over next week,” Dean said. “Give me a week to figure out how I’m going to ask.”

“We don’t have to sing,” Castiel said. “We could just run lines. Or hang out, or whatever.”

“Why do you care anyway?”

“I just want to know more about you, I guess. See where you live, hear Sam’s stories about you.”

“In that case, I take it all back. Never talk to Sam.”

Castiel grinned. “I’m sure they’re all good stories.”

Dean blushed and turned around, quickly putting the drill away and shutting the doors.

That Castiel wanted to know more about him made him feel warm inside in a way he’d never experienced before. He’d had friends in some capacity his whole life, and some came over every once in a while, but this was different. Castiel was reaching out, he wasn’t just coming over because Dean’s house was closer to the Whippy Dip and thus the convenient house to play at.

“Next weekend,” Dean restated. “I promise.”

 

**Chapter 4**

“No freaking way,” Sam said for the millionth time as they walked out to Dean’s car Friday after school. “Seriously? Cas is coming to our house.”

“Jesus, Sam, how many times do I have to say that?

“You’re really getting close, aren’t you?” Sam asked. Before Dean could tell him to cool it, he continued. “I wonder how Dad’s going to like him. He seems like a good guy.”

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. He was worried about that. Castiel wasn’t exactly flaming, but he wasn’t Dad’s ideal image of masculine either. But so what? Cas was great and Dad could go to hell if he didn’t like him. “I don’t really care.”

They reached the car and Dean unlocked the doors. Sam tossed his backpack into the back.

“Dean!” a voice called out across the parking lot. It was Castiel. He jogged over. “Hey,” he said with a big grin. Then his eyes glanced over to Sam and his grin turned softer. “Sam, right?”

“Yep. Nice to meet you, Castiel,” Sam replied. His lips turned up and he glanced from Dean to Castiel and back again. “How’s my brother doing at practice?”

“Sam—“ Dean started.

“Well he’s not exactly practicing, but he does seem to know how to handle wood.”

Dean’s jaw dropped, brain both scrambling and stuck on that phrase. _Handle wood_.

But apparently he didn’t need to worry about the double entendre, as Sam just nodded and said, “Yeah, he’s always been good with building things. I’m not surprised. Just glad he’s using his skills for the theatre and not building a pumpkin catapult.”

Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but Dean cut him off.

“If you’re done gossiping like girls, I’d like to get moving.”

“I’ll follow you,” Castiel said, pulling back. Dean had given him the address in English class earlier, just in case, but that was more of a backup than anything.

“See you there,” Dean said to his retreating back. Castiel waved in acknowledgement.

“I like him,” Sam said as he sat down in the car and buckled in.

“Just don’t tell him the Lake Geneva story, okay?”

Sam’s grin told him trouble was coming.

He just prayed his dad would be decent. John stood up to greet Castiel when they walked through the door. Or, more likely, he stood up to size up Dean’s new friend and decide if he was a problem or not.

“You Castiel?” were John’s first words out of his mouth.

“Yes sir, it’s nice to meet you Mr. Winchester,” Castiel said, offering his hand.

John grunted and took his hand after a beat. He looked Castiel up and down but made no comment on whatever he saw or judged. “Dinner is mac and burgers. I’ll holler when it’s ready. Don’t destroy anything doing… whatever you’re doing.”

“Yes sir,” Dean replied quickly, placing a hand on Castiel’s back and shuffling him towards the hallway. He practically pushed Cas into his room. Inside he took a deep breath.

“So uh, yeah. This is my room. Make yourself at home, I’m going to get us some Pepsi. That okay?”

“Sure,” Castiel said, looking at the posters on Dean’s wall. They weren’t the posters he wanted on his wall, but baseball was more acceptable than _South Pacific_.

When he turned around to go back down the hallway, Sam was standing inside the door to his room, leaning against the frame.

“I don’t know what you were worried about,” Sam said. “Dad’s…. Dad. But he wasn’t going to beat Cas up and take his lunch money.”

“We could hope,” Dean groused.

“We _know_ ,” Same corrected. “You’re worked up over this, and I think I know why.”

“Sam.”

He held up his hands in a peace offering.

“I just wonder if you know why.”

Sam went into his room and shut the door gently.

God damn, it sure would be great if people could stop fucking with his head.

And of course Dad was in the kitchen when Dean came in for the drinks. He was standing over the stove, getting a pot of water up to a boil. Two boxes of knock off mac and cheese sat to the side. His dad. Such a chef.

“Dean,” John said in greeting as Dean opened the fridge. “How long have you been friends with him?”

Dean pulled out the two Pepsis and shut the door. “Not long, a few weeks. Why?”

“Just wondering why this is the first I’ve met him.”

‘Because we’ve been singing froo-froo songs that will be make your panties curl’ was probably not the answer John wanted to hear.

Dean shrugged. “Just haven’t known him that long. Hadn’t come up before.”

John nodded and then waved his hand dismissively. Dean didn’t hesitate to obey the signal and went back down the hall with his sodas.

“My family is weird,” Dean said, walking in the door. He handed Castiel his cold can of soda.

“I like them,” Castiel said. Dean snorted. “Dean, your dad is not that bad.”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe. So what are we working on tonight?”

It was a change of topic, but Castiel didn’t call him on it.

“I was hoping…”

“What?”

Castiel looked to the side while his finger picked at the pop tab nervously, making it _ping_.

“That we could just hang out. Like friends.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, the sound of a pinging pop tab ringing through the room. He reached over and covered Castiel’s pinging hand with his own.

“Considering we _are_ friends, I suppose we could manage that.”

Castiel’s grin lit up his whole freaking bedroom.

Dean’s hand stayed on top of Castiel’s for longer than was necessary, them just grinning at each other stupidly for a moment. When Dean finally realized his hand was still there, he pulled it back sharply.

“So what do you want to do? Watch a movie? Play a game? We’ve got a Playstation in the family room.”

“I’ve got Netflix on my laptop if you want to watch something here. _Clue_ is currently queued up, but we can watch whatever.”

Dean playfully shoved at Castiel’s shoulder. “Did you just ask me to Netflix and chill?”

Castiel blinked slowly. Twice. “I… guess?”

“You have no idea what that means.”

“No,” Castiel admitted.

“It’s when you...” Dean coughed. “Um. You know what? It’s not important.”

They’d gotten the laptop up and running, plugged in and signed into their wifi, when John called them for dinner. John had actually set the table with some semblance of an effort—ceramic plates instead of paper, the pans on hot pads in the middle, serving spoon in the mac and cheese, a fork for the burgers.

So instead of dining and dashing like a wild animal, Dean had a seat and they ate like normal humans. John asked Castiel a few questions about himself, and Castiel answered politely. Dean learned that Castiel loved English class the most, but he didn’t elaborate on why. When John asked how he’d met Dean, Castiel met Dean’s eyes across the table for a brief moment before he told John that he’d seen Dean around school for years, but they hadn’t talked until Dean had saved him from a really embarrassing fall.

John looked at Dean with a vague semblance of pride that made Dean squirm.

Of course, John had also taken the opportunity to ask about sports, trying to feel out the prospects of using Castiel to get Dean to do baseball with him. His efforts didn’t get very far, not with Castiel, who shut it down with the words, “It’s not my thing.”

It was awkward, and Dean was ready for the movie. He rinsed both his and Castiel’s plates quickly and stuffed them in the dishwasher before dashing back to his room.

Dean shut the door, squiggled a finger on the keypad of the laptop to turn the screen back on, and flipped the lights off. Castiel crawled into Dean’s bed and laid on his belly so that his face was closest to the screen and his knees were bent to avoid kicking the wall at the headboard.

Dean joined him.

_Clue_ would not necessarily have been Dean’s first choice, but he’d always been a fan of Tim Curry. Watching Frank-N-Furter and _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ for the first time when he was 13 had made him feel a little less strange for liking theatre so much. Everyone was weird, right?

As he watched Curry’s butler, he couldn’t help but picture him in Rocky Horror, dressed in fishnets, heels, and a corset. He’d always been amazed that anyone could ever be that comfortable putting themselves out there like that. Of course Frank-N-Furter wasn’t normal, and that was sort of the point.

Castiel laughed and the bed trembled gently.

“It’s going to be Mr. Green, right?” Cas asked, turning to Dean with a grin.

“You haven’t seen this before?”

Castiel shook his head.

“Huh. Well then I’m not going to spoil it for you, keep watching.”

Dean tried to pay more attention to the movie, but somehow he spent most of his time watching Castiel laugh.

“So wait,” Castiel said, turning suddenly to Dean when the first solution to the mystery had been revealed. He’d been staring at Castiel and their noses almost hit. Castiel didn’t back up as he continued speaking, so Dean leaned away. He tried to ignore the sensation of regret. “It was Scarlett? Really? I thought for sure Tim Curry wasn’t really a butler.”

Dean chuckled. “Look.”

The title card with the second ending began, and when that one ended, Castiel waited patiently for the third.

“Aha! I was right!”

Dean was smiling at Castiel and he wasn’t entirely sure why. Castiel was captivating. And very, very close.

He coughed and stood. He stretched his arms high above his head, loosening the muscles in his back. It was more to explain his sudden shift out of the bed than actually needing a stretch, but whatever.

“So what do you want to watch next?” Dean asked. When looked down, Castiel’s eyes were focused on his stomach. He put a hand on his pudgy tummy self-consciously. “Dude. There are better things to watch than that.”

Castiel blinked and tore his eyes away from Dean’s stomach. Dean had never really been sure what that phrase meant, tearing someone’s eyes away, until he saw Castiel do it.

He watched Castiel take several deep breaths before saying, “I don’t know about that,” softly. He stood suddenly. “I think that Pepsi went right through me. Pick another movie while I go to the bathroom?” Castiel shuffled out the door.

Jesus, that was weird and tense. If they were going to watch another movie, they’d need to put on something fun and light-hearted.

He laid back down on the bed and used the mouse pad to kick Netflix out of full screen mode. Apparently Cas had already been in a comedy mood, cause the next thing on his playlist was _The Birdcage_. He hadn’t seen it, but it was listed as a comedy. And it evidently had Robin Williams, and that was enough for Dean.

Castiel froze when he reentered the bedroom and saw what was paused on the screen.

“You sure you want to watch that?”

Dean frowned. “Yeah? Why?”

“It deals with cross dressing and drag queens and gay men.”

“Cas,” Dean said, sitting up, “Why on Earth would I have a problem with that?”

Castiel stood still for a long moment, the only part of him moving was his eyes as they roamed over Dean’s face.

“Sorry, Dean,” Castiel said eventually. He walked around the bed and resumed his place at Dean’s side. “Sometimes I forget that it’s okay to be me. Know what I mean?”

The way he added on the last part sounded forced and pointed, and a part of Dean knew what Cas was trying to say, but he didn’t really want to think about it.

“Mmm,” Dean hummed in agreement. “So Nathan Lane and Robin Williams. I bet this will be hilarious.”

“It is.”

“You’ve already seen it,” Dean said with disappointment.

“A dozen times, and I’m more than happy to watch it a dozen more.”

“Good.”

Dean hit play and the movie was off.

It didn’t take long for Dean to find himself rolling in laughter, the bed rocking with him. Castiel was laughing too, joining in Dean’s mirth. They bumped shoulders a few times, and more than once Castiel flung his hand out to slap Dean’s arm when something really good was coming up.

And more than once, when the comedy was in a slow spot, Dean was positive he could feel Castiel’s eyes on his profile. But he was too scared to turn and confirm it.

When the movie ended, Dean was still laughing. He had to wipe tears away from his eyes before he could speak.

“That was amazing,” Dean said. “I honestly thought _Rocky Horror_ was the only movie out there with a crossdresser.”

Castiel looked stunned. “You know _Rocky Horror_?” he asked.

Dean got off the bed and opened his closet door. On the back of the door was a poster of Frank-N-Furter that he displayed proudly.

Castiel gaped and his eyes darted from Dean to the poster and back again. It was such a long pause that Dean’s feeling of pride was shifting to a feeling of self-consciousness.

“What?” he finally asked.

“You literally have Frank-N-Furter in your closet.”

Dean glanced at the poster.

“I mean. Literally,” Cas continued. “One of the most queer icons in the world. In your _closet_. That’s the most ironic thing I’ve ever seen.”

Dean chuckled self-consciously and shut the door carefully. He turned back around slowly cause he could feel his cheeks warming. “Yeah, I guess. But what else was I going to do with it? Dad would flip.”

Castiel nodded. “So it’s just about your dad?”

“Yeah, Why?”

“You’d have no problem with anyone from school knowing it was there?”

Dean crossed his arms. “No,” he said with a little head shake and expression that said exactly the opposite, and he knew it. Maybe Cas would buy it anyway.

“Hmm.”

Okay, maybe not.

“Whatever, I wanted the poster, and that was the only place I could put it.”

“Of course, my favorite was always Rocky Horror, but Tim Curry is captivating, isn’t he? Horribly problematic of course, but captivating.”

“I—“ Dean began, and then froze. Warning bells were going off in his head. _Not safe, not safe._ “So do you want to watch another movie or…?”

Castiel pulled his phone out of his pocket. “It’s almost eleven. I can’t start another one, and Anna’s going to start to… Well, not exactly worry, but I’ll get an earful if I don’t get home soon.”

Dean nodded and helped Castiel get his laptop back in his bag. In the living room, John was still up and told Castiel to come over any time. Castiel thanked him and headed out. Dean was perfectly happy with darting back to his room, but his dad had other plans.

“Sounded like you two had fun,” John said, his voice stopping Dean in his tracks.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed.

“Just… don’t have too much fun.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Which he only got away with because his dad’s eyes had wandered back to the television.

“Yeah, okay, Dad.”

Weird.

~

Castiel was becoming more and more comfortable with his lines, so it was quickly becoming obvious that the stage was the real problem.

When they practiced in the choir room and just ran music and bits of dialogue, he was fine. He was more than fine, he was comfortable. He genuinely liked his cast members and considered them friends, even if they hadn’t had a chance to hang out outside of the play.

But on the stage? That anxiety creeped back in. Even with the audience empty, he could sense the ghosts of audiences-past, all judging him. It sucked.

This Friday, thankfully, they were in the choir room.

Also thankfully, he had a window view to the parking lot, where Dean was leaning on his car, talking with Sam, and a guy Castiel recognized as Ash, their stage manager. Whatever Ash had said had made Dean laugh, and the way the sunlight danced on his throat as he threw back his head was beautiful.

“Castiel,” Pamela called, “Kid, you are a prodigy with your vocal cords, but if you don’t stop staring out the window, I’m going to smack you with a ruler.”

Castiel jumped. He didn’t realize he’d been staring out the window that long.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

Pamela snorted. She didn’t like being called ma’am, but no one could help saying it.

“Back to the top of La Vie Bohem then,” Pamela directed.

Charlie elbowed Castiel while Pamela flipped back to the right page in the sheet music. “Dean, huh?”

“Oh god,” Castiel said, burying his head in his hands. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to me,” Charlie replied.

A snort came from Castiel’s left. It was Kevin. “And me.”

Victor, Jo, and Gadreel all voiced their agreement, and just because Castiel wasn’t quite at the point where he wanted to die and sink into the floor with his embarrassment, Pamela chimed in, too.

“It’s obvious to everyone but him, kiddo,” Pamela said.

“You want my advice?” Meg asked. No, no he did not. “Get over him. He’s never going to be with a guy.”

Okay. NOW the floor could come up and swallow him. The room was awkwardly silent for a long moment.

“That’s enough. We’re here to practice, not gossip. From the top,” Pamela said. The phrase ‘from the top’ had never sounded so freaking beautiful.

Fortunately, the topic of his crush on Dean did not come back up for the rest of practice. It did, however, come up again after practice.

“So you’ll be able to make the Halloween party, right?” Kevin asked. “Next Saturday? Ash invited the whole cast. Costume is mandatory.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Castiel responded.

They pushed open the doors to the school parking lot and dispersed. Castiel only took a few steps before he spotted Dean about fifty feet away, still in the parking lot. Sam was in the car and Ash was gone.

Dean met his eye and broke out into a grin. Castiel paused. Then stumbled as he was nudged from the side.

“Hey,” said Jo softly. “I’ve known Dean a long time, and there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

Castiel stared at her, unsure what to say. Unsure what she was trying to tell him.

“I’m just saying,” she continued, “that he doesn’t smile at everyone like that.”

Castiel sighed. “Even if what you’re implying is true, Dean hides himself from himself, let alone everyone else.”

“So,” Jo said with a shrug. “If he’s going to hide, maybe you should play seek.”

She turned and left, jogging to catch up to Charlie, leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts and Dean’s smile.

Dean noticed his conversation with Jo had ended and waved him over.

“What was that about?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Castiel replied. “They invited me to a costume party, that’s all.”

“Oh yeah? Ash invited me earlier.”

“Cool, so we can go together,” Castiel said. He cringed at himself. “I mean, you know, we can both go, not like—“

Dean put a hand on his shoulder. “I know, Cas. Breathe.”

That sounded like a good idea, so Castiel took a deep breath and smiled to show he wasn’t going completely crazy.

Dean removed his hand awkwardly. Castiel couldn’t remember when Dean’s touches had become awkward.

“So why are you here?” he asked.

“I had an idea. Do you have to go straight home?”

Turns out, Dean’s idea was to drop Sam off at home and then head to a stage and practice some more. Not exactly what Castiel had been hoping for, but then again, he was hoping for far too much when it came to Dean.

Dean explained that the theatre was his Uncle Bobby’s, and when he found out nothing was going on that night, he asked if he could bring a friend by to show them the place. Bobby had made him swear they weren’t going to get drunk or high or bring a girl back to screw, and then gave him a key.

“This place is beautiful, Dean,” Castiel said, turning on spot in the orchestra pit, neck craned to look at everything.

“It’s dated and worn down.”

“Maybe, but maybe that’s what makes it beautiful.”

When Castiel looked up, Dean was staring at him, eyes soft. He blushed and looked away.

“We should practice,” Dean said finally. “We’ve got two weeks to kick the last of your anxieties.”

Castiel laughed. “Yeah, well, I don’t know if that’s possible, but we can try. What did you have in mind?”

“Which number makes you most nervous?”

“La Vie Boheme. But that would put you doing most of the cast’s parts. It’s a huge number.”

Dean assured him it would be fine and went to turn some lights on on the stage, instead of just the house lights. Castiel dropped off his bag and his jacket in the wings, then stretched his arms a few times.

“Oh, Dean, did you need—“

Dean waved off the question. “We might need some music though, for this one.”

Castiel nodded and pulled out his phone. “I’ve got the movie ready to go, I just need to find the right spot. It’s close enough, and should help fill in the feel of the whole cast being present.”

He set his phone up and put it on the stage towards the front edge. He’d started it a few minutes back from the number so he could find his place. Dean took a spot nearby, ridiculously close to where they’d been spotting it in practice, for the first person who has a solo.

Castiel tried very, very hard not to overthink the fact that there was a ghost-audience sitting out there. A very, very large ghost-audience, cause this place was old, and there was no telling how many people once filled those seats.

Yep, here he was, with no one but Dean and the massive ghost-audience, and the stage fright was still there.

He almost missed his queue.

Almost.

He sang, he danced, and so did Dean. Slowly, his muscles loosened and the ghost-audience began to fade out. Dean knew his stuff and was so into taking on each character that Castiel couldn’t help but smile and enjoy himself. Dean’s singing voice was completely untrained and a little pitchy, but it’s not like Cas was expecting perfection from a guy who preferred the stage wings.

The point was that he got into the number with Cas. Castiel’s character Mark got to dance and bump against most of the characters in the number, and so Castiel got to dance and bump against Dean, pretending to rock out on a tabletop in a diner.

There was one thing, however, that he completely failed to account for and that was that in the movie version, which they were both obviously familiar with, Maureen kisses Mark. Not that Castiel expected Dean to kiss him, but when that moment came, Dean’s movements definitely stuttered.

Did that mean something?

Didn’t matter, Dean would never tell him if it did.

When the song ended, Castiel paused it.

“This is working,” Castiel said, panting gently. “Mind running _Tango Maureen_ with me again? I dare say we have more space than we did in my room.”

“Sure.”

Okay, so maybe he was curious what would happen if they were pressed against each other again, hands clasped, dancing.

And as he suspected, his heart began to pound a rhythm to match the energetic pace, his palms began to sweat, and having Dean and Dean’s woodsy scent pressed in that close to him was making him hard as hell.

He was hyper aware of Dean’s reaction, too. He was holding Castiel’s lead hand tightly, pulling Castiel in tighter than he needed, and when they stopped, still embraced, he made no move to pull away, staring at Castiel like he was the most amazing thing in the universe.

Then he did the impossible and moved in closer, eyes fluttering closed, lips parted slightly. For one amazing second, Castiel knew they were going to kiss. Holy shit.

And just as suddenly, Dean pulled back.

“Fuck, sorry,” Dean said, running a hand through his hair.

Castiel was still in shock, his brain unable to comprehend the idea that Dean Winchester had almost kissed him. He said nothing.

“I have no idea what happened, Cas, I’m not...”

That made Castiel move, looking up from where his eyes had been glued to the floor.

“I’m not gay,” Dean finished.

To his credit, he did say it like it was the last thing he wanted to say, like he didn’t want to disappoint Cas.

“Have you considered the possibility that you might be?”

“What? No,” Dean said. He took a twitchy step back from Castiel. “I like _girls,_ Cas.”

Castiel rolled his eyes so hard, he was sure they were lost somewhere in the ghost-audience seats. “It’s called bisexuality, Dean.”

“Oh, sure, yeah,” Dean said, stomping around the stage a few times. He was winding himself up. “That would just make you happy, wouldn’t it? Yeah. Make me queer, then I can fall madly in love with you and we can ride off into the sunset together.”

“What?” Castiel snapped.

“Well, sorry Cas, doesn’t work that way. You can’t make me something I’m not just to get your kicks in.”

The tone, the hateful, shame filled, accusatory, crude tone hurt like hell.

“Fuck you, Dean,” Castiel spat. “Don’t make this about me. I’m not making you anything.”

“So you don’t have the hots for me? You don’t want me to kiss you right here? Press you to the stage and suck your cock? Turn you over and fuck you?”

Castiel’s chin was on the floor. “Wow.” He stalked over to his stuff and picked it up roughly. “When you want to push someone away, you sure go for it.” He headed straight for the exit.

“Hey!” Dean shouted while Castiel continued his stomping. “Answer the question, Cas.”

Castiel spun around. It looked like their friendship was over anyway, no point in hiding any longer.

“Fine,” Castiel bit out. “I like you, Dean. A lot. But this isn’t about me. This is about you figuring out who you are before the real Dean is so far buried in Tim Curry’s fishnets, so carefully tucked away in your closet, no one can find you again.”

That finally seemed to throw Dean, and he had nothing to say to that. Castiel took that as an opportunity to relish having the last word and left, slamming the door behind him.

He didn’t know how he made it home, and Anna had demanded the full story from him when walked in the door, but he dodged her and made for his room. Castiel face-planted on his bed and didn’t move until morning.

~

Dean was pissed.

But he was kind of pissed in that way where he didn’t really know what he was pissed about or who he wanted to beat up.

No, that last part was a lie. He wanted to beat himself up. Cas had been way out of line to imply what he did, but if Cas had been out of line, then Dean had obliterated the line and spat on its corpse.

Damn it. How could he be so stupid?

He threw his book bag against the wall when he got home. It rattled the room, but it wasn’t quite satisfying enough, so Dean picked up a pillow from his bed and screamed into it.

There was a knock at his door and a meek, “Dean?”

Dean stared at the door. Could he, by any chance or miracle or sacrificial small animals, get Sam to leave him alone and not ask?

“Dean, I can hear you willing me to go away and it’s not happening. Let me in.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean unlocked the door. He made Sam turn the knob though. Cause he was feeling like a petty ass, so he might as well act like one.

“What happened?” Sam asked. “What did you do to Cas?”

“What?” Dean snapped, crossing his arms defensively. Shit, seriously, how could Sam possibly know what just happened? “Why do you think it had anything to do with Cas?”

Sam’s look conveyed all of a very put-upon teenager who despises having to explain everything to his Very Stupid elders.

“Let’s see,” Sam started, walking further into Dean’s room. He held up his hand and began to count on his fingers as he spoke. “For one, you were just with him. Two, you spend all your time with him. Three, I’ve been waiting for you to have a gay crisis about it, and it seems to be about time.”

Dean gaped.

“Oh no, wait. I forgot one. Four, you’re an idiot.”

“Very helpful, Sam, thank you.”

“So what happened? Did he try to kiss you?”

“Nothing happened, Sam!”

Sam sighed and sat down on Dean’s bed. Dean really wished he’d leave the freaking room already so he could scream into his pillow a few more times, but apparently that was not going to happen.

“Did you want something to happen?” he asked carefully.

“Sam.” His tone was dangerous.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him, Dean. Everyone has.”

“SAM.” Okay, forget the pillow. If Sam was going to talk like that, he’d need a bag. He was going to hyperventilate.

“And it’s really completely okay if you like him like that. Honestly, no one cares. When Jo came out and started seeing Charlie, no one cared.”

“Dad would care.”

“Fuck Dad.”

“Sam!” Dean admonished. This needed to end like yesterday. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter because I’m not gay.” Sam opened his mouth to speak, so Dean hastily added. “OR bi.”

It was beginning to feel false on his tongue, asserting that statement.

“God you are so screwed up,” Sam said, standing up. He walked to the door and paused. He waited so long to speak that Dean tensed with the tension. Finally, he said, “You’ve let your fear of Dad’s and other’s opinions control you for long enough, don’t you think? Figure yourself out.”

He left before Dean could reply. Which was perfectly fine with Dean. He had no idea what he would have said anyway.

_I’m not scared._

Dean looked at his closet door where Frank-N-Furter was hidden. Okay, so maybe someone who is well adjusted and not afraid doesn’t hide men in fishnets in their closet.

Sam was right. He needed to figure himself out. Cause there was one thing he knew to be true, and that was that he really liked Castiel.

He was funny. He was kind, and smart, and had the voice of an angel.

And when he laughed, his face was like pure sunshine.

And he knew some of Dean’s secrets and had never judged him for them. Not once.

Then there was the bravery. Facing down a very real, and very powerful fear so he could follow his heart, chase his ambitions. Not everyone was that strong. And Dean really wanted someone like that in his life. Castiel made for a very good friend.

_Friend_. Cause he wasn’t gay. Or bi.

Dean collapsed onto his bed, staring blankly at his ceiling.

He had a lot of thinking to do.

 

**Chapter 5**

It had been a weird week.

Dean had been avoiding him, not even meeting his eye in English class.

To top it off, they were beginning to run full rehearsals, and Saturday afternoon they ran it with the stage crew. Which meant Dean was in the wings.

In some ways it was a good thing for Castiel. He was too distracted about Dean to worry too much about the ghost-audience staring at him.

On the other hand, he was _distracted about Dean_.

Kevin had noticed. He elbowed Castiel in the wing while Jo and Charlie ran one of their scenes. “What in the world is up with you?”

Castiel’s eyes drifted over to the other wing where Dean was leaning against a table that was about to go out on stage. Kevin must have seen because he made a humming sound that sounded a bit too much like understanding.

“He’s incredibly frustrating,” Castiel said. Well. They already knew what was what, no point in pretending he didn’t know what Kevin was humming over.

“Does he like you back?” Kevin asked. Castiel turned and looked at him. Kevin shrugged. “Everyone thinks he does, it’s pretty obvious.”

Dean was whispering with Ash when Castiel looked back to him. There was no doubt in Castiel’s mind that if Dean could find it in himself to continue with the drama club, he could be the stage manager for the Spring play. He understood sets like Castiel understood pitch, and Ash would gladly step back.

“Well don’t tell Dean that. He thinks he’s successfully cloaked himself in his own lies,” Castiel said. Dean turned and met his eye across the stage, looking sharply away. “The only person he’s fooling is himself.”

Kevin was quiet for a moment. “Hey, putting yourself out there can be hard,” he finally said.

Castiel hummed in agreement just as the stage went dark for the scene change. He was up next, and any further thought about Dean would have to wait until the next time he wasn’t on stage.

But he did think about it. In every spare moment he had. It wasn’t going to be enough to talk to Dean about it. He was too stubborn, too far in denial. If he wanted Dean to believe that the world would not end if he took a risk, then he was going to have to _show_ Dean that the world would not end.

“Hey Kevin,” Castiel said, catching his elbow as he headed off stage to do a costume change. “What time was the party tonight?”

“Seven,” Kevin answer.

Seven. That gave him three hours to get home, change into costume, and get back to the party.

“Hope you got a good costume,” Kevin said, slapping him on the shoulder before turning to leave.

“I think I do,” Castiel said to himself, pulling out his phone. He needed to text Anna.

_“Do you have a corset?”_

~

He’d had to text Anna a few _dozen_ more times before rehearsal was over. Not only did he have to explain what he was looking for, but she wouldn’t help him until he explained why. Which led to more questions and exclamations until Cas finally bribed her into being silent and helpful by promising that on Sunday morning he’d make her pancakes and tell her everything.

To top it off, he’d had to ask her for help getting into everything. It should have been incredibly embarrassing, but that was kind of the whole point of all of this. To put himself out there, fuck what anyone else said.

It’d already worked, too, at least in that Anna had been free of judgment. In fact, she’d been excited for him. He knew she was going to have a long night, waiting for the sun to rise the next day, and Cas to give her the scoop.

Anna was efficient and Castiel walked through the door to Kevin and Ash’s party just shy of fashionably late at 7:30 pm.

The entire front room stopped and stared at him. The only sound was Thriller playing from a stereo in the corner.

The silence was broken when Ash came through the door from the kitchen. “Rocky Horror!” Ash cried. “Rock on, man!”

“Technically I am Frank-N-Furter.”

Someone chuckled, another person shrugged, and the party continued.

Life goes on.

Castiel hobbled on his thrift store five inch heels across the family room. The heels were a challenge, but the uncomfortable bit was the fishnets. He’d had no idea they would be so scratchy. Or that corsets made you feel like you couldn’t breathe, or that mascara was a bitch to apply.

But when he caught his reflection in the door to the patio, he knew he looked damn good and that it was all worth it.

Maybe.

Depended on how Dean reacted, and whether this pain in his feet got better. Feet got used to it, or something, right? Women didn’t walk around all the time in this level of agony willingly, right?

“Hey,” Castiel called, catching Ash at the elbow. “Is Dean here yet?”

“Nope,” Ash said. “He’s usually late.”

Castiel nodded, letting Ash go.

He spotted Jo in the kitchen dressed up in army camouflage and went to grab a drink and hang out with his new friends.

It took him 20 times longer to get there than it should have, but whatever. No ankles were broken.

“Very nice,” Jo said when he approached. She reached down and snapped a garter strap. “Where did this get-up come from?”

“Uh,” Castiel replied. _My sister’s closet_ was not an acceptable answer. “Thrift stores.”

“I think she means _why_ ,” Charlie said, approaching them. She was dressed as Dorothy from _Wizard of Oz_. She handed Jo a cup of red punch.

“I wanted to make a point.”

“Are you trying to tell us that you’re trans?” Jo asked.

“What? No,” Castiel said sharply. He eased when he realized no one was actually teasing him. In fact, it seemed to have been a legitimate question, free of judgement. But the answer was still no. “Cross dressers don’t have to be trans. Or gay, for that matter.”

“But you are.”

“Gay, yes,” Castiel said. He took Jo’s undrunk punch from her hand and downed it. “It’s just a costume.”

“No, Cas,” Charlie said, “that is a statement.”

“Well. Yeah,” Castiel said. “That was kind of the point. I wanted to show… certain people that it’s okay to put yourself out there.”

Jo took a step backwards and looked Castiel up and down. “Way to do that literally.” Castiel blushed.

“Babe,” Charlie said, elbowing Jo. “You’re making him uncomfortable.”

“Are you jealous?” Jo said, grinning. The way she put it made it clear that she was surprised by this. “Cas is hella gay, and I’m hella gay for you.”

Charlie beamed back.

She opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of the front door opening made her pause. The family room had gone silent again.

“Deeeean!” they heard Ash cry. “Dude, why didn’t you tell me you and Cas were coming together? Wait, why did you arrive separately?”

What?

Castiel crossed back over to the door and there, there was Dean. Dressed as Rocky Horror, the sexy, muscled god from the same movie Castiel’s character was from. The same character Castiel had specifically mentioned being his favorite just a few weeks ago.

Dean looked equally as shocked when he spotted Cas on the other side of the room, his eyes roaming all over his body. It was the first time Castiel felt truly revealed in his outfit.

And, for the love of all that was holy, somehow Dean’s costume was even more revealing than Castiel’s. Rocky wore a tight, gold pair of briefs and gold boxer shoes. Castiel at least got the corset.

_Fuck._ He could not get hard in this costume. All he had on down there was a tight pair of black underwear.

There was a low whistle in the room. Everyone laughed and went back to whatever they’d been doing before two nearly naked men had walked into the room.

Well. This was not going to work, they needed to talk. Now.

He stormed across the room, wobbled, remembered he was in heels, and proceeded to tiptoe the rest of the way.

“We need to talk,” Castiel said. He grabbed Dean’s elbow and pulled him towards the stairs. Someone whistled again. Castiel flipped off the room at large and several people laughed.

Finding an empty bedroom was easy. Cas pushed Dean inside and shut the door.

He turned to say something to Dean but discovered no words would come out. Awkward.

It was also a little weird that he was suddenly a few inches taller than Dean, but that was hardly his main concern at the moment.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, breaking the tension. “I was a dick.”

“Yes you were.”

Dean palmed the back of his neck and turned, pacing into the bedroom. He apparently didn’t know what to say either.

“So,” Castiel ventured. “Rocky Horror?”

“Frank-N-Furter?” Dean replied, spinning around with a sly smile on his face.

“I was…” Castiel trailed off. Does he tell Dean the reason he chose this costume?

“Was it for me?” Dean prompted.

“Was Rocky?”

Dean blushed. “Yeah,” he confessed. “I remembered you saying you liked him best, and I wanted to show you that I could, you know, take a risk or whatever. Put myself out there.”

Castiel snorted, and then laughed. Then laughed some more. Dean looked on in amused confusion.

“That’s why I chose Frank-N-Furter. I wanted you to see that nothing bad would happen. Our friends are awesome.”

“So basically we were trying to prove the same point by displaying our junk for half the school?” Dean mused.

Castiel’s eyes involuntarily roamed all over Dean’s body, and once again, he had to remind himself that this was a very bad costume to get aroused in. Especially since he and Dean were on speaking terms again. He didn’t know if they were on _that good_ of speaking terms to survive cock-stretched latex.

He looked away sharply.

“We should get back to the party,” he said. He watched Dean lick his lips. Did he look disappointed?

“Yeah.”

And so they joined the throngs of dancing, drinking and laughing teenagers. It wasn’t hard to find Kevin, Jo, and Charlie, all hanging out together on the back deck, and Gadreel, Victor, and Meg all stopped by to chill with them for a while. The conversation was casual and friendly. And Castiel finally got the story about how Jo had left a scar on Dean’s leg.

Once Castiel’s eyes had permission to look at Dean’s thigh to locate the scar, he couldn’t keep his eyes away. How he’d slipped by his dad like that was beyond him.

But his body was just a perk. Dean’s laugh, so full and carefree, had much more to do with it. His eyes, so beautiful in color and filled with life, might have played a part, too. And his freckles.

Dean Winchester was a Greek freaking statue.

Only he wasn’t just marble. He had life. He had a heart. He’d taken care of Cas when he was still a nearly complete stranger, and he’d stepped up to help without him even needing to ask. Thanks to Dean Winchester, Castiel was going to be on stage in one week, living a dream he never thought he’d be able to see through.

Oh fuck. Forget a crush. He was falling way beyond that.

“Cas,” Dean said, elbowing him and shocking him out of his realization. “They’re playing our song in there.”

Sure enough, some little shit had put _Time Warp_ from _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ on in the family room.

“Dance with me,” Dean declared boldly. He gave Castiel no chance to protest, grabbing his hand and yanking him into the house, through the kitchen, and into the family room. It was a really good thing Castiel had been practicing walking in heels all night long.

The rest of the group followed them more slowly, but everyone ended up getting in on the Time Warp fun. It was obvious who had not seen the movie, but the beauty of _Rocky Horror_ was that it didn’t matter at all.

It kicked off some more dance tunes that had them all bumping along, hip checking each other, grabbing hands and doing swings and dips for the heck of it. Somehow Castiel found himself dancing more with Dean than anyone else, and he certainly wasn’t complaining about that.

And then a few hip bumps with Dean, and a goofy twirl or two, led to another and another, until Castiel had forgotten that he owed Jo a dip. It was all about Dean. Dean’s body heat was blending with his, and the fact that they were both practically wearing nothing but underwear meant a lot of skin was making contact.

The thing he’d been telling himself all night that he was definitely not allowed to do was starting to happen. He was so freaking turned on, drowning in Dean’s scent and heat and skin, the room a fuzzy blur around them.

“Shit,” Dean cursed low. He grabbed Castiel’s hand and yanked him out of the room, up the stairs, and into the bedroom they’d talked in earlier.

He shut the door and pressed Castiel up against it, moving in close, so ridiculously close that Castiel could begin counting the flecks of gold in Dean’s eyes if he wanted.

His heart pounded in his ribcage as it dared his head to believe that this could really be happening, that Dean was as worked up as him.

“Fuck,” Dean mumbled again, so close that Castiel could feel warm breath on his neck. “You look so fucking hot, do you have any idea. Fishnets, a corset. Jesus fucking Christ, Cas, your eyes did _not_ need eyeliner.”

Castiel whimpered. “Dean, please.”

Dean was going to have to make the first move. That was a fact. Castiel could not make it for him. He knew what he wanted and where he stood, Dean needed to decide the same for himself.

But god damn did his hands twitch to wrap themselves around Dean’s ass and pull him close.

He flatted them against the door to keep them in order.

“Cas,” Dean whispered just a second before he closed the distance and pressed their lips together.

The pounding in Castiel’s ribcage froze, staccatoed, and roared into life.

The first kiss was brief, Dean pushed it in as if he was afraid he’d lose the courage to do so. Once that was over with, he dove in with all he had.

Castiel moaned into the kiss, opened his mouth, and let Dean take control. His traitorous hands lost their poise and found themselves tangled deep in Dean’s hair.

_Fuck_ , his skimpy briefs hurt. He was straining the fabric, could feel cool air across the tip of his dick. He couldn’t help it, he thrust forward into Dean’s answering hips, their erections bumping together, sending sparks shooting up his spine.

Dean froze and the kiss ended abruptly. Castiel stared at him wide eyed and dazed.

“Dean?”

“I can’t do this,” Dean said, taking a huge, _horrible_ step backwards.

“Are you… are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?”

“I can’t,” Dean said weakly. He was still panting. “I thought… I want to… It’s too much.” He stopped and shook his head, taking another step backwards, bumping into a night stand. “I can’t.”

Castiel gaped, his mouth working over several thoughts, none of which dared leave his brain.

Finally, he spit out, “Coward.” To his sadistic delight, Dean flinched. “Wallowing in fear instead of going after what you want. You couldn’t even join drama club without lying about why!”

Castiel ripped open the door to the bedroom, and turned to say one final thing.

And there was Dean, backed into a nightstand, head down, biting his lip, curling in on himself, trying to become as small as possible, trying to protect himself.

God damn it. He was, most definitely, just a little bit in love with a man who was never going to love him back. Not freely, not in any sort of a healthy way. He couldn’t force a man to leave the closet if he wasn’t ready, and Dean was never going to be ready.

With a stabbing feeling in his chest where his heart should be, Castiel left.

~

Dean watched Castiel storm out the door and, the second his friend (ex-friend?) was gone, all strength left his body and he fell to the floor.

He was a coward.

He wanted to be brave and strong, he wanted to be okay with wanting Castiel, he wanted to not care what his dad or Sam or the people downstairs would think, but he was so very, very not.

Jo found him in the bedroom, figured everything out on her own, sighed heavily, informed him he was being dumb, then hugged him and drove him home.

Dean struggled to find the key he’d hidden in his boot, unlocked the door and headed for his room. The gold spandex was peeled off carefully, and Dean stared sadly at his dick, which gave a faint twitch when the fabric was coming off.

_Sorry, buddy, I’m not in the mood. Not now, not after being a colossal idiot and ruining everything with Cas._

He still couldn’t process what the clenching in his chest meant. He was scared, he hurt, he just wanted to die and he didn’t really care if there was more to it.

He pulled on his oldest, softest pair of boxers and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. It was a good thing Dean loved pretty much all types of music. Sharing a love of classic rock with Dad was about the only thing he approved of.

The front door opened and Dean heard Sam’s tinier feet come down the hallway. He paused at his own door, and that’s when Dean realized his fatal mistake. He’d left the light on.

“Dean?” Sam asked, pushing the door open. “What are you doing home? I thought you’d be out until two.” Something must have shown on Dean’s face cause Sam’s next words were, “Oh, Dean, what did you do now?”

He sat down on the bed next to Dean’s prone form.

“Why do you always assume I did something?” Dean asked, lifting his arm off of his eyes to peer at Sam.

“Because it’s always you who did something.”

Dean snorted. “Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam responded automatically. “Seriously Dean, what happened? Did you break Castiel’s heart?”

Dean stiffened and didn’t respond.

“Seriously, Dean?!” Sam screeched. “You like him! Why are you fucking this up?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Dean said, surprising both of them by sitting up sharply. “You’re right, okay? Fine, is that what you want to hear? You’re right. I like him. And it scares the shit out of me that a man in fishnets gets me hard.”

“Um…”

“No, you made me talk, now you get to listen. I don’t want to like Cas like that. I’m straight Sam, I swear to god.”

Sam frowned. “If you’re going to lie like that, don’t bring God into it.”

“Fine! Whatever! Fine! What do you want me to say? What am I supposed to do when kissing him made me more terrified than I’ve been in my whole life? Are you happy, Sam, I’m a fucking wimp.”

Sam didn’t say anything for a long moment, and in that moment, Dean realized he sounded like a fucking five year old freaking out that he had to go get his haircut for the first time.

“I think,” Sam said carefully. “That this is simple. It’s risk-reward. Do you want to be who you are? Do you want to be with who you want? Are you willing to do what it takes to be that person, or is pretending you are someone else how you want to live your life? Are you willing to let him go?”

“Thanks for the wisdom, Confucius.”

Sam sighed, standing up. He paused at the door frame. “Look, Dean, I get why this is scary for you. I do. Dad hasn’t exactly been nurturing, and I know there are many people out there that are much, much worse.” Sam shuffled uncharacteristically. “But I also know this. My brother may be a lot of things, but he isn’t a coward and he can get past this.”

The door shut with a soft click.

But he was a coward. And every time he thought about how he’d pulled away from Cas, the look of hurt, confusion and pain on Castiel’s face, he felt more embarrassment and guilt than he could get a grip on. Then he’d backed into a corner, willing himself to disappear into the carpet.

Why, dear god, why, couldn’t he have had disappeared into the carpet?

 

**Chapter 6**

If Castiel thought the week before had been awkward with Dean, then this week could be described by some word that meant more than the word awkward properly conveyed. Now Dean not only struggled to make eye contact, he went out of his way to go absurd routes just to avoid running into Castiel. Castiel had to exit stage right several times during the now-full-costumed rehearsals and Dean would look away and shrink into the corner. It was horrible.

Because now Castiel knew, without a doubt, that Dean did like him back, that he did want more than friendship. And there was no taking that knowledge back.

Sometimes Cas wished he was still ignorant.

But no, he knows Dean wants him, just as much as he knows Dean is scared of accepting that.

The horrible thing, when Castiel is able to shove his own feelings aside, is that he gets the fear. Things may be getting better, but there is still a lot of prejudice out there against anyone who isn’t straight. If Dean couldn’t get past that fear, then Castiel couldn’t, and wouldn’t, make him.

Sam had stopped him after the first full rehearsal on Monday, when Dean was distracted by getting the set put away and ready for the next night. He found Castiel heading to the dressing rooms and pulled him into a side hallway.

Castiel had expected a protective-brother spiel, but instead he’d said, among other things, “My brother is an idiot.”

Which was unexpected. If it had been Anna pulling Dean aside, she would have ripped his balls off. When Castiel had come home on Saturday night, Anna had taken one look at his face and turned to stone. A scary, force of nature, I’m-going-to-kill-someone face. Castiel actually had to tell her not to hurt anyone or do anything before he went into his room and hit the bed face first.

The next morning, she handed him the plate of pancakes he had promised to make _her_ , and he told her everything.

Oddly enough, her conclusion and Sam’s were the same. They wanted Cas to give Dean time, that if he could give Dean space and let him sort himself out, he was worth the wait. That no one would ever take care of Cas so selflessly if Dean could get past this.

Well neither of them put it quite like that, but that was the gist.

Honestly, Cas wasn’t sure he could or would even want to wait. If Dean came around, he would have to come all the way around, cause Cas was not letting Dean pull him into a closet. He wasn’t going to hide a relationship, he wasn’t going to pretend to be anything other than what he was.

Not because he was bold or making a statement. It’s just who he was and he wasn’t ashamed of it.

He was, however, still scared of performing in front of people, and the temporary reprieve the distraction named Dean provided was rapidly disappearing. Each night of rehearsal brought them closer to opening night, and on Wednesday, the night before opening night, it was no secret that Castiel was on the edge of a panic attack the whole time.

While Dean was avoiding him and clearly didn’t want to talk yet, Castiel had still caught him watching Castiel with concern on his face. Castiel wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with that.

It certainly didn’t make the panic any better, so what good was it? All it did was add to the confusion. Dean had rejected him, he didn’t get to look concerned.

So in a blur of confusion, hurt feelings, and panic, Thursday came. Getting into full makeup and costume on opening night was an exercise in frustration. The poor girl who had to apply some concealer to his face was going to stab him in the eye with the brush, and he wouldn’t even blame her. Whether it was intentional or accidentally caused by the squirming, it didn’t really matter when he couldn’t see out of one eye for the rest of the show.

“You need to calm down,” the girl had said.

“Easy for you to say,” Castiel quipped.

She clicked her container of makeup shut and picked up a different one. “You’re right, it is,” she confessed, pressing a brush to his face. “But I know you are good at this. And I know you’ve got a great man at your back.”

“What?” Castiel asked, pulling back.

“Dean,” she said plainly, like she was stating the obvious.

“Dean isn’t talking to me,” Castiel replied. He narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“Lisa.”

“Ah,” Castiel said, carefully neutral. So she was one of the girls Dean talked about all the time. He’d never had a class with her. But she was pretty. He hoped they’d be very pretty happily heterosexually together.

His face must have displayed at least some of his thoughts as Lisa rolled her eyes. “I don’t want him, you know. I mean, I did. Who wouldn’t? But about a month ago, he started talking about you like you made the sun rise, the moon shine, and heaven sprout angels. Didn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

Castiel sighed. “That’s lovely and all, but if Dean heard you say that, he’d have a panic attack.”

“Maybe,” Lisa agreed, “but at least _you_ aren’t having one anymore.”

Touché.

By the time she’d finished, thankfully without damage to his eye, there was still over a half hour to go before curtain. The nerves were rapidly returning. What was he going to do for half an hour? Throw up 16 times?

“Hey,” Kevin called across the dressing room. He was pulling his skirt on. “You’re ready, you got this.”

Castiel nodded, but it was a hollow gesture.

At some point shortly after that, Victor popped his head in the door.

“Circle,” he said to them and nodded to the side down the hallway before disappearing in the direction he’d nodded.

Castiel stood. “Circle?” he asked Kevin.

“It’s tradition,” Kevin explained. “Come on.”

Kevin pulled him towards the choir room, and Castiel was surprised to discover that literally everyone was in there. Everyone, including lights, sound, stage crew, make up, props, and everyone from the extras with no names to Castiel and Kevin and the main cast.

“Alright,” Mrs. Moseley said, walking in. “Alright guys, circle up, you know what to do.”

No, no he very much did _not_ know what to do.

The blob of a group slowly moved into a circle shape and everyone was crossing their arms, right over left, and taking the hands of the person next to them. Castiel found himself holding Kevin’s on his right, and Jo on the left. Dean was directly across and met his eyes.

To his surprise, Dean did not look away, but held his gaze resolutely. It was like he was trying to tell Cas something, but he had no idea what that could be. Castiel raised his eyebrow in question, and Dean nodded gently.

Nope, still no idea what that could mean.

“Garth,” Mrs. Mosley said harshly. Castiel’s eye contact with Dean broke. “Right over left.” He complied, fixing his arms with a sheepish grin.

“Where’s Mrs. Barnes?” Castiel whispered to Kevin while the room mumbled and checked their own arms.

“Warming up the orchestra. Since she handles all of the music, she can’t make it back for this.”

Castiel nodded his understanding, though he was still a little short on the understanding part.

“Alright, alright, calm down,” Mrs. Moseley called. “First, I just want to say that you have all done an incredible job these past few weeks. You’ve worked hard, you’ve made new friends, and you’ve faced your fears.” She glanced at Cas. A few people did. “Tonight is the beginning of the end of that hard work. Tonight you take the stage and you tell a story. Lose yourself in that story, and the audience will, too. Let’s get out there and put on a show they’ll never forget!”

There was some cheering and Castiel thought that sounded like an end, but no one made to leave.

“Victor, any announcements?”

“Cast party will be at my house this Saturday.” Victor said. “And of course we would like to thank Mrs. Moseley for getting us to today. Without her, we wouldn’t be here.”

While there was more cheering, Castiel couldn’t help but think that the actual person he owed this to was standing on the other side of the room, not talking to him. Which sucked. But hey, eye contact. That was something of progress.

“I’ll start the good luck squeeze,” Victor said when the cheering had died down. “Don’t miss your turn. We’re not starting late again because someone zoned out.” He shot a look to Garth and he blushed.

Fortunately, even though the instructions were vague, Castiel could see the hand squeezes being passed around the circle. Kevin squeezed his, he squeezed Jo’s, and the circle continued until it got back to Victor.

“That’s it! Break a leg!”

As the nausea rolled again in his tummy, Castiel thought that breaking a leg might be desirable. Then he’d get out of having to actually go on stage in front a room full of actually, breathing, living people. There was no ghost-audience tonight.

“Five minutes to curtain!” someone called when Castiel was making his way down the narrow hallway. Whelp. That meant it was time to take his position on stage with the rest of the main cast for the opening number.

He had no idea how he was going to make it. He was going to die. On stage. And then die again. He didn’t even hear or acknowledge his cast mates as he moved into place.

“Hey! Hey Cas!” It was Dean’s voice, in a hushed, but urgent tone. Castiel turned in a daze as the man who had been doing gymnastics to avoid him all week approached him. “You got this. You so got this,” he said. The lights were dim and Castiel could still make out the flecks of gold in his eyes. Curse Dean for being so beautiful and so, so confusing.

“Dean,” Jo hissed, annoyed. They had, literally, a minute or two until Ash would call for lights and the curtain would go up.

“Dean,” Castiel said, surprised, echoing Jo. “Dean, listen, I get it, okay? It’s fine--”

“Cas,” Dean said, cutting him off. “I got like 20 seconds and I gotta…” He licked his lips. “You can do this,” he said determinedly. “And just to prove that anyone can face their fears…”

Dean stepped forward, fast as lightning and smooth as silk, pulled Castiel into him, and kissed him.

Castiel heard gasps come from all around them, and from the corner of his eye, Jo was pumping the air furiously. Silently, but furiously.

“Dean?” Castiel asked when he ended the kiss.

“Kick ass, Cas,” Dean said, stepping back. “You’ve got this. And if you want me, you can have me.”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but Ash was waving his arm violently from the wing, trying to get Dean off the stage. Cas nodded instead, mouthing, “We’ll talk.”

The butterflies were forgotten as Castiel took his mark.

Dean was right. He had this.

The curtain opened.

 

**Epilogue**

By the time the show ended on opening night, it had been past 11 and well past when John would accept Dean getting him and Sam home, but he’d taken Cas aside and kissed him again. And again and again.

“I’m not going to be great at this, Cas,” Dean had admitted. “I’m going to make mistakes.”

Castiel had kissed him then and promised they would both make mistakes.

Friday when the show was over, Dean pulled Cas into a hallway and clarified that he was going to need time. And Castiel clarified that he wasn’t going to be anyone’s secret, but he also understood Dean wasn’t going to change overnight. And that was okay.

Dean had just leaned forward and pressed their lips together when Sam found them and informed them that the cast and crew were headed to The Roadhouse for food and munchies, and he would not like to be an hour late, thank you very much.

He’d also told Dean that he was proud of him, and Dean still didn’t know how to process that, so he called him a bitch and punched him in the arm. Castiel looked quite alarmed until Sam had called him jerk and punched Dean back. Then Castiel’s face shifted to amusement as he smiled, the grin that made Dean’s heart do a little dance.

And now here he was, Saturday night at the cast party, holding Castiel’s hand in public. Who would have guessed a month ago that this would be him? He would have punched you in the nose if you’d suggested it.

But here he was, having a great time, out with the man that made him happier than he could ever remember being. The man that pulled him out of himself, to accept who he was and be proud of it.

And you know what? It turns out no one really gave a shit. They didn’t bat an eye at him being with Cas. They’d been congratulated once or twice at the party, which was weird, but otherwise it wasn’t really a big deal. There was still his dad to tell sooner or later, of course, but he’d cross that bridge when they got there.

As for the theatre thing, Charlie caught him humming a _West Side Story_ number and just smirked, patted him on the back, and took her cue on stage without another word.

The world did not end. If anything, it got a little brighter.

 “Dean,” Castiel said, tugging on his hand, reminding him that they were holding hands _in public_. “They have a pool table. We should play.”

“Okay, Cas,” Dean said. He was fully aware that he was grinning like an idiot and didn’t care.

Charlie and Jo played against them as a team, and naturally, slaughtered them. At least they hadn’t tried to hustle first. The girls were scary, but honest.

“I hope we didn’t kick your asses too hard,” Charlie said with an innocent bat of her eyelashes.

“Yeah, those will be getting sore enough later, I’d imagine,” Jo said with a leer.

Dean blushed and shook his head. “Good god, you two are worse than most men.”

“Say what now?” Kevin said, leaning into the room through the ginormous archway. He was wearing a long haired wig with pigtails and a cheerleader outfit. And not the men’s version with pants.

“I think jokes that involve gender roles are a little out the window now,” Castiel said, chuckling as Kevin tossed back a pigtail and pranced into the room.

 “Damn straight,” Kevin said. He looked at the four faces around him. “Actually, there is absolutely nothing straight about anyone in this room, so . . .  damn queer!” He lifted his pop can and chugged it back.

Dean reached back and grabbed his drink off the window ledge he’d perched it on. “I’ll drink to that. Damn queer!”

“Damn what now?”

It was Sam, wandering into the room. He looked around the group who was all smiles and laughs and shrugged. “Okay, then. Dean, they have _Rocky Horror_ on DVD, Victor was talking about putting it on.”

The entire group had started laughing about the time Sam had said ‘Rocky Horror,’ while Castiel and Dean both blushed.

“You all are weird,” Sam said flatly.

Dean sobered up long enough to put a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, Sam. I’m going to pass on that.”

“Okay,” he said, looking around the group and turning to go. He turned back. “Hey, Dean?” Sam pulled on Dean’s shoulder to get him to lean down so Sam could whisper in his ear. Kid was so short. “Don’t forget the condoms, okay?”

“Sam!” Dean said, giving him a little shove. Sam was sporting a shit eating grin. He gave the group a little wave and left.

“More pool?” Castiel suggested, wiggling his cue stick.

“There’s music and dancing outside,” Kevin suggested. “And a couple people have climbed into the hot tub.”

“Yeah, I don’t have trunks,” Dean replied.

Jo shrugged. “We’ve practically seen it all anyway.”

“Oh god,” Dean bemoaned, covering his face with his hands. He was never going to live down the gold spandex. He should burn the thing. He would burn the thing, if it wasn’t for the fact that the night at the Halloween party was now featuring vividly in many fantasies and he wouldn’t mind a chance at reliving it. In private, with Cas-as-Frank-n-Furter, and a much happier ending.

“Music,” Castiel said, setting the cue stick down and resuming his grip on Dean’s hand, “Sounds good.”

And of course it did, because dancing meant touching. And grinding. And sharing breath. And getting so freaking turned on he couldn’t see straight. That’s what happened last time.

Even without the spandex and fishnets, that was exactly what happened this time, too. Cas was beautiful, his body was amazing, and it felt even better when it was bumping against his. Maybe he’d could get a second chance at that party hookup sans gold underwear.

He wasn’t the only one thinking that way, either.

“Think we can find a room upstairs?” Castiel asked breathlessly, hot into his ear.

Dean shook his head. “Victor’s parents aren’t quite as laidback as Ash’s, and they’re watching TV in the room where the stairs are.”

Castiel deflated. “Normally Anna would be cool with it, but she, um, doesn’t like you right now. It’ll take her awhile to trust this.”

Dean nodded, not offended. If he’d seen Cas come home as upset as he undoubtedly had last Saturday, he’d probably never forgive the person that made him look that way.

“Well my house is not an option,” Dean said. He caressed Castiel’s hand for a moment, letting the crowd dance around them. He pulled out his phone and checked the time. It was 11:30 pm. Good thing they’d told Dad they’d be home late. “I know where we can go.”

He still had a key to The Victorian, and at this time, the place should be empty.

~

“I still can’t believe how beautiful this place is,” Castiel said as they walked in. The place was empty. Their show had also ended two hours ago, and much to Dean’s delight, there was still a couch on stage. It was set for a living room.

“I’ll get the lights,” Dean said.

“No,” Castiel said, tugging his hand. “I like it like this, with just enough light from the emergency lights to see by.”

That was fine by Dean. He hadn’t been nervous out dancing at Victor’s house, but he was getting nervous now.

And Castiel, bless him, must have sensed that.

He pulled out his phone, pressed the screen a few times, and the song _If I loved You_ from _Oklahoma!_ came out. Dean groaned.

“What?” Castiel asked. “I thought we’d dance some more and this seemed appropriate.”

“But Groban?”

“Josh has a beautiful voice.”

“Fine,” Dean said with a put-upon sigh. But he was smiling as he put his hands around Castiel’s waist, and Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck.

They moved closer as the music continued and soon found themselves kissing.

This kiss was different. It meant something, something more than a frantic, horny driven kiss, or a kiss to make a statement. This was what their first kiss should have been. Sweet, tender, full of meaning and emotions, emotions Dean dare not name.

As the kiss grew deeper, Castiel’s phone switched to _Can You Feel the Love Tonight_ from Lion King. Dean barely noticed. Castiel was pulling him tight, licking into his mouth, and the heat from earlier was rapidly returning.

They were making out. Heavily making out. As in, this was the time Dean would start to consider sliding his hands around to the hem of a girl’s skirt, but Castiel wasn’t wearing a skirt.

Castiel didn’t seem to have any of the same clothing inspired hang ups. His hands had moved from Dean’s neck to grasping at his ass.

Dean groaned as Castiel pressed into Dean, pulling them impossibly close, grinding them together.

Castiel had somehow walked them backwards to the couch and pushed Dean onto it. He planted knees on either side of Dean, straddling his lap. Dean looked up as if in a daze of lust. Castiel’s eyes were blown wide, probably matching his own. He looked like he couldn’t believe this was happening. That meant two of them.

He gripped Castiel’s hips as the kiss resumed, quickly becoming dirty with lip nibbles and snaking tongues. Castiel began moving his hips, pressing downwards and suddenly he could feel Castiel’s hardness, pressed right next to his own.

It was exactly like before, when their cocks had pressed together in a bedroom at Ash’s house, except this time, Dean didn’t panic. This felt good, Castiel felt good, fuck he felt amazing, and he was _not_ going to screw this up.

He let Castiel rock into him a few more times, enjoy the tease of pleasure the pressure was bringing, before he tightened his grip on Castiel’s hips and helped change Castiel’s pace and his angle, grinding Castiel into him unabashedly. Stars popped behind his eyes.

It must have been working for Castiel too, cause he moaned into Dean’s mouth.

“How,” Castiel panted, coming in for another quick kiss, “How do you want to do this?”

Dean froze. There it was, he was going to fuck this all up anyway. He was ready for kissing. Was he ready for _that_?

“I mean,” Castiel clarified, nipping at his ear, “what do you want? Not, do you want to top or bottom.”

Dean relaxed, but all he could get himself to say was, “Um…”

“Hmm,” Castiel hummed thoughtfully. “Well then, why don’t I try something and you stop me if you’re uncomfortable? We’ll go back to what you’re okay with.”

Dean took a deep breath. Yeah, yeah he could do that.

Castiel slid off of him and sunk to his knees before Dean, looking up at him through his stupidly dark and long eyelashes. His heart skipped a beat in his chest as Castiel reached for his fly. _Holy shit, Castiel was going to suck his cock_. Castiel popped the button and slid the zipper down so slow, he thought he might die. When Castiel finally reached in and touched his cock, it took all his willpower not to blow right there.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean panted. “I’m not going to last long here.”

Castiel grinned up at him. Holding Dean’s cock, he raised himself up, and then lowered his mouth down.

“Aw, fuck!” Dean cursed. He thrust up and Castiel coughed a little, backing off. “Sorry, sorry.”

“You just surprised me,” Castiel said.

That did not make it okay to choke your partner, so when Castiel wrapped his lips back around him and the wet heat enveloped all those sensitive nerve endings, he bit his lip to keep from screaming, thrusting, or doing anything else he really shouldn’t, like yank on Castiel’s messy hair. _But damn, he could make it messier..._

Castiel slunk down slowly and back up, like he was learning every inch of Dean. When he pulled back, he pulled off, and gave the head of his cock a little lick. His cock jumped, trying to drive itself back into the sinful home.

“Caaas,” Dean complained.

Chuckling, Castiel shifted his grip, put Dean back in his mouth, and completely shifted gears. After a short pause, he sucked in air through his nose and swallowed Dean whole, taking Dean to the base and letting his tongue work on Dean before pulling back up.

After the first pass, like he was proving to himself that he could do it, Castiel did it again without hesitation, and again, and again, until Dean was a whimpering mass.

“Holy shit,” Dean said, throwing his head to the side. His hands tensed by his side, opening and shutting again and again, desperate to do something else. “Holy fucking shit.”

Castiel reached with his left hand, took Dean’s right, and placed it on his head. He was giving Dean permission.

And that was really, frankly, unfair and too much, and that was all she wrote. The pleasure spiked almost painfully and he was shooting himself into Castiel’s beautiful, sinful mouth, his back arched off the couch as he chased the edge of his orgasm.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but was probably two seconds, Dean collapsed on the couch.

He knew he was the perfect picture of debauchery, with his pants hanging open and his softening cock bobbing in the air, his arm thrown back behind the couch and his eyes glazed over, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything else but lay there.

Castiel looked entirely too smug as he took a seat next to Dean.

“Good?” he asked.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean said, wobbling his head sideways to look at him. “Good doesn’t cover it. Where did you learn that?”

Cas shrugged. “Lots of practice.” When Dean’s face fell, he added, “On a cucumber, Dean, calm down. I haven’t been blowing the football team or anything like that.”

That was, strangely, a relief. It’s not like he had any right to Castiel’s sexual past.

“Okay,” Dean said, when he could speak again without struggling to breathe. “Okay, so I should…” he said, waving at Castiel’s crotch.

“Just kiss me,” Castiel said.

“But…”

“Kiss me.”

“Okay…”

Dean peeled himself off the back of the couch and turned to Cas. Then he had a better idea and put his hands at Castiel’s shoulders, guiding him until he was laying down. Holding himself above Castiel, he kissed him.

“Mmmm,” Castiel moaned in appreciation, threading a hand into Dean’s hair.

They kissed, deep but not frantically, for a few moments, and soon Castiel’s hips were doing little gyrations in the air. He could lower himself and give him something to grind against, but then Cas would be coming in his pants, and that didn’t seem like a lot of fun.

Castiel’s hand found his and guided it to his zipper.

_Oh_. Yeah, he could do that. He could undo a zipper.

Once Dean got the fly open, he undid the button on Castiel’s boxers, and slid his hand inside the slit of fabric.

_FUCK_ , that was a penis. Castiel’s penis. Castiel’s hard and leaking penis. His brain short circuited.

When Castiel whimpered, Dean realized he had been loosely touching Castiel’s dick for like a full minute, not moving and not kissing.

“Dean, I swear to god, if you’re freaking out on me right now—“

Dean pecked him on the lips. “You’d let me. And be incredibly frustrated for it. But no, I’m not freaking out. I’m stuck on how awesome your dick feels.”

“Then maybe you should touch it some more.”

“I think I should.”

He pulled back enough to get both hands between them and pulled Castiel’s boxers down, tucking them beneath his balls. Castiel took a shuddering breath while Dean stared down at him.

 “Fuck,” Dean mumbled. He licked his hand and unceremoniously wrapped it around Castiel’s length. Then he leaned back in and resumed kissing Castiel, tightening his grip on his cock and moving. He worked Castiel’s length like he would his own, giving the tip a bit of a squeeze every so many passes before sliding back down.

It didn’t take Castiel very long at all to be thrusting vigorously into his hand, moving sharply enough that they’d had to break the kiss. This was almost better though, hovering right above him, sharing his air, watching his eyes blow wider and wider with lust as he came closer and closer to the edge. His fingers wrapped around Dean’s bicep, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

“Dean,” Castiel exclaimed softly and breathlessly, like he was amazed he was saying that name at all, before his hips left the couch and come was shooting out of his cock.

Dean held him through it, moving gently, coaxing every bit of come out of him.

When Castiel finally collapsed, boneless with satiety, Dean let go. He used his now semi-gross hand to prop himself up, sighing with the relief of pressure on his other arm. A strand of hair had fallen across Castiel’s forehead and Dean pushed it aside gently, letting his fingers caress Castiel’s face.

He gave Cas one final kiss before sitting up.

And now that he didn’t have a cock on the brain, he remembered where they were. He’d just fooled around on Bobby’s stage. Good god, they could have gotten come on the couch.

Dean started chuckling and Castiel looked at him like he was nuts.

“What?” he asked.

“Well,” he said, “Technically, I did not break any rules. I did not bring any girls back here to sleep with.”

Castiel laughed. “Nope. We’re all good there.”

Dean laughed with him, but ended up looking away at the end, wondering how true that was. “Are we? Are we all good?” He’d been such a tool. He still couldn’t believe Castiel still wanted him.

“Yes. Dean, stop that. We’re good. I want this, I want you. At some point you’re going to have to stop being afraid.”

“But what if…” Dean began and trailed off. No. He wanted to say this. “What if I’m afraid I’ll fall in love with you?”

“Then I’d say we’ve overcome worse fears. I think we can handle love.”

Dean grinned.

Love. Love sounded like a fear worth conquering.

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thank yous...
> 
> ... to [lennyways](https://lennyways.tumblr.com/post/151791849724/dcbb-2016-art-masterpost-stage-fright-i-worked), the artist for this story.
> 
> ... to Alene, my constant source of strength and someone who is never afraid to tell it to me straight. 
> 
> ... to my husband, who stepped in for the final proofread of this. He READ the entire thing OUT LOUD. Yeah. I married well.
> 
> If you enjoyed, please leave a kudos or a quick message, to warm my fragile writer soul. You can also find me on tumblr at [caswouldratherbehere](www.caswouldratherbehere.tumblr.com). I'd love to chat with you!


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